


Enough to Share

by Quintin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Eventual Happy Ending, Foster Care, Parenthood, Parentlock, Past Child Abuse, holmes parents - Freeform, referenced homophobia, sherlock and john are soft parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25852108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quintin/pseuds/Quintin
Summary: “You’re so good with Rosie,” John murmured. “What do you think of fostering?”~ ~ ~When Rosie was three, John and Sherlock moved their family out to Sussex and settled into a gentler life. Sherlock picked up some cases with the local police and John established a private practice clinic that was doing quite well. They got married on the beach with Rosie as flower girl and all was idyllic. Rosie was getting older though, and if they were going to have more kids, now would be their chance. Foster care came up and all parties were happy. After a string of short-term stays, a quiet little boy turns the family’s life upside down.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 25
Kudos: 181





	1. Chapter 1

“How was school?”

  
Rosie tossed her bag down by the table in the study as she wandered through to get a snack. Sherlock was clicking away at a website and hadn’t even turned to greet her. “Dad, I know what you’re doing. You can’t distract me with pleasantries.” She grabbed a pack of crackers before returning and leaning on the table.  
  
Sherlock smiled and looked at her. “Go on, then. Deduce away, kiddo.”  
  
“You’re scrolling through a website with pictures of happy and extremely diverse families while starting a ‘small-talk’ conversation that I know you actively despise so you have something you want to talk about. Papa recently suggested we watch that American show about a foster family fittingly titled The Fosters. Obviously you are afraid of me being eleven in two months and growing up so fast so you are looking at getting another kid and with papa’s big heart he’d want to help a kid in a bad situation. All this adds up to you wanting to ask me about fostering kids.” Rosie rattled through the process quickly with great confidence before looking to Sherlock for confirmation. “I think it’s good; I’ve always wanted a sibling.”  
  
With a nod, Sherlock pulled the website back up and tilted the screen in her direction. “There’s an information session this Saturday in town, are you okay if your papa and I go?”  
  
“Only if I can get that crystal growing kit for my birthday,” Rosie quipped before sitting at her table to get started on her homework.

* * *

The following months were filled with many long training sessions and in-home checks to make sure the house was suitable for fostering. It took almost a year before they got the call for their first placement.  
  
“Hello, this call is for Mr. Sherlock and Dr. John Watson-Holmes?”  
  
“This is John,” the doctor answered, leaning to his husband and gripping his hand tight.  
  
“I’m calling to let you know that we have an emergency placement; twin girls, 7 years-old, need a home until their birth-mother can establish a home for them. Would you and your family be prepared for that?”  
  
John glanced at Sherlock, getting the nod of approval before excusing himself from the sidelines of Rosie’s football match. “We would love to,” he answered, walking away to discuss the details.

That evening, John left Sherlock to watch the game and drove to pick up the twins, Maya and Casey. The three of them were battling to settle who got top bunk, Maya biting her sister to get her way and John struggling to control the situation.  
  
“Papa! You missed it!” Rosie’s voice came booming up the stairs followed quickly by her, still wearing her mud-caked uniform. “I scored and it was-” She trailed off as she saw the lights on in the guest room. Despite months of prepping for this situation, seeing her papa caring for other kids twisted at her stomach. He’d missed her first goal for these two demon-children. “You must be Casey and Maya,” she said, plastering a Sherlock-level fake smile on as she took in the girls' wild demeanor.  
  
“I’m Maya,” Casey declared with a cheeky grin.  
  
“No! You’re a liar! I’m Maya,” her sister quickly protested.  
  
“To be honest,” John said, looking back at Rosie, “I’m not entirely sure which is which and they haven't stayed still long enough to figure it out. Congratulations on your goal though, that’s amazing! You’ll have to do it again when I can be there.”  
  
“For sure,” Rose said before glancing at the stairs. “Dad and I picked up take-away. I’m gonna help him get plates and then dinner is ready.” She nodded and took off, dropping her bag in her room before heading downstairs.

Maya and Casey were only with them for a month before they were reunited with their mother, and the night they left, Rosie curled up on the couch with her dads and watched a movie, grateful to be able to hear everything without the two girls screaming constantly. The next months were filled with a half-dozen placements, most extremely short-term before being reunited with their parents or other family members. They always left the house quiet and Rosie extra snugly.  
  
Their most recent placement, Zack, had been with them through Christmas which was difficult on all parties. Rosie spent most of Christmas dinner playing chess with her uncle Myc to avoid him, and stared at all the gifts he got. She wasn’t jealous per say, but it still felt strange watching all the adults, who only ever had her to dote upon, paying attention to this kid. Mrs. Hudson had knitted him a blanket almost identical to the one she’d gotten on the birthday she moved to her “big-girl” bed. It was entirely unfair.  
  
Three days after he left, they got the call for a “difficult case”; a young boy who’d been in the system since birth who at best had difficulties connecting but typically didn’t speak at all. They called him a sensitive boy but really meant that he was plagued by the flaws of the system and never received the help that he needed.  
  
“Can I get him a present?” Rosie asked upon hearing this. “I want him to know there’s enough to share here.”


	2. Chapter 2

Hamish was used to the process by now. It goes as follows:

  1. The family gets fed up, either by the lack of communication or the behavioural problems. This happens suddenly usually.
  2. “Pack your bags,” is typically yelled, though useless as he only owns one bag and it always stays packed; he’s never at a place long enough to unpack.
  3. Julie, his case-worker, is called.
  4. She picks him up in her black sedan, brings him for food and then to her office. 
  5. His old, threadbare Paw Patrol backpack is put in the corner and he takes his spot in the armchair.
  6. Then he waits. Sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for hours. Once it was overnight



He came home from school early with a black eye and the chain began. By 5 that evening, he was looking at a box of cold chicken nuggets sitting on the edge of the coffee table and fidgeting absent-mindedly with the toy that came with his meal as Julie pecked away at her keyboard. He listened to her make the call, asking for Mr. and Dr. Watson-Holmes to tell them she had a  _ delicate _ placement if they would want him.    
  


“Hamish, I found you a nice family,” Julie said softly. “Their names are Sherlock and John and they have a twelve year-old daughter named Rosie. You’ll have your own bedroom and plenty of outdoor space to play. John is going to be here in about twenty minutes so you should try and eat something before he shows up.” She glanced at the untouched dinner with a sigh. How this kid survived was beyond her. John and Sherlock were to be his last chance at a placement before he was sent to a group home better equipped to help him. He was almost 6 now, though still the size of an average 4 year-old and social skills were non-existent. He didn’t fare well at school, and very rarely made a connection with anyone.   
  


The boy passed the time in the office by playing with the same puzzle toy he always did, never managing to get it apart. The only time he looked up was when there was a confident but gentle knock on the door and Julie slipped out.   
  


“You must be John.”    
  


He nodded as she stepped into the hall and gently closed the door behind her. “Hamish is… Well, like I said, he’s a sensitive boy. He’s been in the system since he was an infant and been close to adoption a couple of times before things fall through. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but this is his last shot at finding a ‘forever family’ before he’s moved into a group-home. I think your medical background combined with your husband’s knack for reading people will be beneficial for him.”    
  


John nodded along as he took the information in. “Any behavior issues I should be aware of?”   
  


“Other than his apparent mutism, he’s well behaved. He has some issues at school, like today he got a black eye from one of his classmates, but all evidence points to that just being mean kids not understanding people who are different. He’s a sweet boy, he just needs someone who will support him and fight for him. If you’re ready, he’s probably on edge,” Julie explained calmly before pushing the door open.    
  


Hamish was still curled up in the armchair with his head resting on the arm as he moved the same piece back and forth as if it would have different results the 100th time. His eyes focused on the door and quickly scanned John over.   
  


“Hamish, this is John,” Julie said with a grin and motioned for John to sit. “He’s the one I told you about with the big yard and the daughter. Do you think you can handle going with him?”    
  


The question was rhetorical; Hamish didn’t have a choice. He never had a choice in going home with these people. And even if he was meant to answer, he wouldn’t. He simply put the puzzle down on the table and glanced at his backpack.    
  


“Hamish,” John said with a smile, “That’s my middle name. I think it fits you better.” He smiled and his eyes took in everything he could; McDonald’s meal untouched on the table, drink half gone and toy resting on the chair with him, blackeye that appeared to have been caused by a table or similar surface, most likely from being shoved, and soft eyes following his every move. This kid had a rough start but hopefully he and Sherlock could give him the home that he deserved. “Well, Sherlock and Rosie were left in charge of getting something to eat,” he started as he stood up. “I think we should get home before they set up a buffet of sweets instead of dinner.”    
  


“I don’t know, maybe cake and ice cream is what you all need,” Julie teased before picking up Hamish’s bag. She handed it over to John along with her card in case they needed anything. “Any time, day or night,” she whispered. “I’ll stop by sometime next week to see how everything’s going. You behave, mister.” She gave a smile and gently ruffled the boy’s hair. 

Hamish sat in the back seat of John’s car, his backpack next to him and eyes focused on his foster father.    
  


“I’ll let you know now, Hamish, Rosie sometimes isn’t the best at boundaries. She’s very strict about other people respecting hers but slips up with new people quite often,” John explained, unsure if any of what he was saying was sinking in, but it felt better to fill the silence. “She’s twelve and thinks she’s invincible but if you just shake your head, she should leave you alone. And then there’s Sherlock… We love him, but he can come off a little harsh. He doesn’t mean it, he just has no filter. Also, we have very few strict rules. One is that all food in the house belongs to everyone; if you want something to eat, feel free to get it yourself or have someone help if you need. Another is school work must be finished before play. Though your grades aren’t all that important, putting the work in really is. We work as a team, Sherlock, Rosie and myself and now you, so if you need anything, all you need to do is ask for help.”    
  


John continued through some ground-rules through the ride home until the car pulled to a stop in a driveway. The house itself was simple but nice, nothing over-the-top and it looked homey. Hamish got out of the car and waited for John, holding his bag tight. As the door opened, Hamish heard who he assumed to be Rosie hollar into a distant room declaring that they were home. Following John, he made his way into the little mudroom by the front door. The boy shifted uneasily as two sets of steps started making their way towards him.    
  


“Hamish, this is Rosie,” John started as his daughter appeared in the doorway. “And my husband Sherlock.”    
  


The boy’s eyes flickered with recognition when John introduced Sherlock. Husband. They were gay. Husbands. He glanced between them and then to Rosie before nodding.    
  


“Hamish is papa’s middle name!” Rosie announced with a grin.   
  


“That’s a really cool Paw Patrol bag,” Sherlock said before glancing at John. “How about you, me and Rosie go to see your room? Rosie picked out a present for you and she’s been waiting to give it to you.”    
  


Thirty seconds was all Sherlock needed to gather an entire room of information on Hamish. He’d never had a family, spending his entire life in foster care. He knew how to speak, didn’t have a stutter or other speech impediment, but simply found other things more important to focus on; his silence was self-preservation. He was full of anxiety, sometimes causing meltdowns which were typically viewed as throwing a fit by his foster parents. The hem of his shirt was worn down where he rubbed it constantly in an effort to self-soothe and his sneakers were, underneath the layers of dirt, pink. Hand-me-downs. Not suitable for a child of his. They would have to remedy this tomorrow.    
  


Rosie took over the tour, pointing to the “Harry Potter closet” under the stairs where the mop and broom went, and the family pictures on the wall next to the stairs, then her bedroom and the bathroom and then finally his room. He had bunk beds and she was jealous but promised it was okay. She bounded into his room and picked up the gift bag on the bed to thrust it at him. “Daddy and I picked it out for you,” she explained before catching Sherlock motioning for her to give the boy some room to breathe.    
  


The house seemed bigger than he expected from the outside and there was definitely a lot for Hamish to keep track of. When the bag was forced upon him he blinked before looking at Sherlock and carefully pulling the tissue paper out of it. He reached into the bag and found a stuffed bumble bee. He pulled it out and put the bag on the floor, looking at Sherlock, silently asking if it was his before smiling and nodding as he mouthed ‘thanks’ to the floor.    
  


“You’re very welcome, bud. Alright, you two go wash up for dinner and if you hurry I will try and convince papa to let us watch telly when we eat,” Sherlock said before slipping downstairs to the sound of Rosie explaining a thousand things.

  
  


Dinner was mac and cheese with peas and they ate in the living room, watching an episode of Doctor Who. Hamish had brought the bee down with him and ate with it on his lap, constantly rubbing the gritty mesh-like texture of the wings between his fingers. Moving days typically caused his appetite to disappear and this was no different. He expertly manipulated his bowl to make it look like he’d eaten more than he had before putting it on the floor next to himself, his back leaning on the sofa.    
  


“Papa,” Rosie suddenly asked with a sly smirk. “We should do the best parts of our day. What was the best part of yours?”   
  


John smiled as he hummed, pretending to think long and hard about his day. “The best part of my day was… I’ve gotta say it’s right now -- eating dinner with my family, all three of you, makes me really happy.”   
  


“Alright, now you ask someone, papa!” This was Rosie’s favorite game and they played it most every night. It also, she thought, might serve as a catalyst to get Hamish to talk. A silent brother is useless but if she could get him to talk, she might like him.    
  


“Let’s see,” John stalled before he leaned to Hamish and whispered the question. “Hamish, what was the best part of your day?”   
  


Sherlock’s eyes focused on the boy, watching his mind work through the layers of the question and the best way to answer it. There was silence for a moment before Hamish sheepishly lifted the stuffed bee with a nod and then spun to John, begging him to not make him ask someone. Sherlock grinned and stepped in before anything was said, watching Rosie prepare to fight on the rules of the game. “Rosamund, what was the best part of your day?” he asked.   
  


The deception worked and Rosie’s attention was immediately pulled to Sherlock’s use of her full name. “You know I don’t like that. That for sure isn’t the best part of my day!”   
  


“Ah, two things,” John chuckled. “You can answer with a negative and that seemed pretty negative to me.”   
  


“But I don’t like it! It’s like if I called you John and Sherlock and not papa and dad.”   
  


“Keep going and I’ll make it four.”   
  


“Fine. Uh, one was playing with Jackson at school cuz we were playing one on one and I beat him really good and the second is, no. That’s the second. One: playing with Jackson. Two: beating him really good. Dad, what was the best part of your day?”   
  


Sherlock debated the benefit of fighting her but let it slide this once. “Best part of my day would be dinner.”   
  


“Papa already said that. You can’t say the same thing, it’s against the rules!”   
  


“Okay then, I finally got the results that I was looking for on my science experiment after trying for months,” Sherlock settled.   
  


John winked at Sherlock before putting their bowls on the table. He pulled Rosie up off the floor and on top of him on the couch and grinned. “Get away from me,” he teased.   
  


“I can’t!” Rosie squealed, giggling. “You’re holding onto me. I can’t leave!”   
  


Hamish’s eyes went wide as saucers when Rosie started struggling and he gripped tight on his bee, staring to see if he could maybe help her. He didn’t know how to help and glanced over his shoulder, thinking maybe it would be best to go to his room when there was a gentle hand on his head and a soft voice.    
  


“Hamish, it’s okay. They’re playing,” Sherlock murmured. “They do this all the time. Do you wanna help me clean up the kitchen?”    
  


The boy nodded, eyes still on Rosie as she yelped and giggled. He carefully got up and followed Sherlock into the kitchen, his attention still fully on John and whether she was going to hurt Rosie. Once in the kitchen, his mind released the stress, instead eyeing the shelves and cupboards full of food and even a full drawer big enough he could fit in labeled “Snacks”.    
  


“Did papa, sorry, John. Did John tell you that you have free access to any of the food in the kitchen? Just help yourself anytime and if you can’t find something, one of us can help you.” Sherlock explained the locations of things while he absentmindedly cleaned up the leftovers from dinner and began to load the dishwasher. “In fact, if I remember right… Aha, yup.” With a huge grin, Sherlock pulled the last package of brownie bites out and dropped them on the counter. “You split those up between you and me and I will finish loading the dishwasher.”    
  


After debating the options, Hamish followed the instructions and ripped the package open to find 5 bites. He could quickly eat the extra one and not tell Sherlock, or give the extra one to Sherlock, or split it in half and they could each have two and a half. And then he heard Rosie giggle and an entirely new set of options arose. He could split them all four ways or just split his portion three ways because Sherlock had said to split it between them both, not all of them. Sitting at the breakfast bar, he continued to stare at the brownies, unaware that Sherlock had been watching him in the reflection on the window as it had gotten dark outside.   
  


“The good thing about brownies is that I was the only one to like them before you came,” Sherlock pondered, hinting to Hamish that there was no need to share with John and Rosie. “Also, those packages are only meant to have four little brownies in them and I only want two of them.” He could clearly see, even in the distorted windowpane reflection, the tension leaving Hamish’s frame.    
  


With his experiment complete, Sherlock turned back around and smiled at the boy. “Amazing,” he praised and popped one of his two brownies in his mouth in one bite. He leaned on the counter and talked to Hamish about absolutely nothing.   
  


_ Mental note: Hamish is a people-pleaser. His goal is to satisfy everyone, even at his own detriment. Work on this. _


	3. Chapter 3

The morning wasn’t as easy as it should have been. Rosie slept through her alarm meaning she wasn’t ready when John took off for work and Sherlock had to take her. This would have been fine on any other day but it wasn’t until they were buckled and starting the car that Rosie exclaimed “Hamish!” 

Day one with him and they’d almost forgotten him home alone. It wasn’t until Rosie saw the curtains move on his window that she remembered they’d forgotten him. Sherlock stumbled out of the car and through the front door, quickly making his way to Hamish’s door. “Hamish, bud,” he called and knocked slightly. “Hamish, I need you to come so we can drop Rosie off to school.” He bit his knuckle when he was met with silence and sighed as it hit him. Hamish had seen them getting in the car ready to leave without him. _Fuck_ . 

“Hamish, I’m gonna come in,” he announced before carefully pushing the door open. He blinked as both bunks appeared undisturbed as if he hadn’t ever crawled under the blankets and he turned his focus to the boy, whose eyes were half-closed even standing by the window. Okay, so the kid hadn’t slept, Sherlock went weeks with no more than two hours of sleep. Surely Hamish could do with one night of no sleep. 

“Bud, we’re running late to get Rosie to school on time. I need you to come with me,” he explained, glancing at the clock. “Grab a sweatshirt and then we can come home to put real clothes on once she’s at school, okay?” He wasn’t really sure who he was asking but he had to leave in under two minutes and not hit traffic in order to get to the school on time and a slow-moving 6 year-old wasn’t helping things along. 

A minute and a half later, Hamish was buckled in his booster seat arms wrapped tight around the bumble bee. “Don’t tell papa we almost left without Hamish,” Sherlock demanded, catching Rosie’s eye in the rearview. “He’ll never trust me alone with you two if he finds out.” 

Rosie giggled and teased Sherlock but Hamish wasn’t finding the humor in the situation.

* * *

Once Rosie was safely delivered to her school, Sherlock pulled over on a side street and turned to look at Hamish. He was quite a mess with pajama pants at least two sizes too small, a sweatshirt that was too big, and to top it all off, his shoes on the wrong feet. 

“Hey bud?” 

_Blink._ _  
_

“Are you sleepy?”

_Shrug._ _  
_

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

_Shrug._ _  
_

“Were you scared?”

_Hesitation. Shrug._ _  
_

“Was it because you were in a new place?”

_Long pause. Nod._ _  
_

“Okay,” Sherlock said softly. “Let's go for a ride then.”

Sherlock made sure to take the longest route back to the house, making all stops and turns as smooth as possible as he kept an eye on the boy in the back seat. It was only two blocks before the boy dozed off, too tired to hold his head up any longer. The two drove around for almost two hours before returning home where Sherlock left the car idling in the driveway while tapping away on his phone (and snapping a picture of the kid to send to John). 

Another half hour passed before Hamish started twitching and whimpering. Rosie had done this at his age so Sherlock thought nothing of it until the whimpers started sounding more like cries. He cut the engine and got out, opening Hamish’s door and gently talking to him, trying to wake him up smoothly. The kid let out a long whine and stretched before swatting at the hand in his hair. 

“Hamish,” Sherlock breathed. “It’s just me. It’s Sherlock. You were having a bad dream. I wanted to let you know we made it home.” He watched as the kid fought to open his eyes against the bright morning sky and gave him a soft smile. “Sleep well, Gremlin?" He grinned and helped the boy unbuckle.

* * *

The rest of the morning passed smoothly. Hamish, having gotten himself dressed, came downstairs with his shirt inside out and Sherlock helped him fix it before settling the kid in front of a movie, hoping he would manage another nap. By noon, John was home from work as promised and the three of them took off after lunch and to get some shopping done before Rosie got out of school.

After purchasing what seemed to be an entire new wardrobe as well as his school uniform, they headed to a shoe store. By then, Hamish was visibly tired, and lagging behind slightly but shook his head quickly when either of them offered to carry him

Sat in the bright, jovial back corner of the shoe store, a sales clerk was trying her best to get Hamish to laugh and sit still to get his feet measured. Hamish just looked tired and rubbed the hem of his shirt, pulling his foot away each time Sophie, the assistant, tried to line it up on the metal measurer.

"Hamish," John pleaded. "She just needs to put your foot on the thing and tell us what size shoe. It won't hurt you. And when we're done, we can go pick Rosie up from football practice."

Sherlock stood behind Sophie, eyes tracking Hamish's small body and noting a few details. The front door dinged each time someone walked in (or got too close), and each time it did, the boy flinched slightly. Same with the register. John kept attempting to calm him by brushing his hand through the boy's hair but each contact caused him to tense. And every time Sophie even touched his foot to the measure, it was like it shocked him; he pulled away quickly and his hand gripped his shirt tight before relaxing again.

"Stop," Sherlock said suddenly, ignoring the incredulous looks from both adults. "Thank you, Steph, or whatever, but we are done. You may leave."

She scuttled away, nodding at John's apology and Sherlock took her spot in front of Hamish but didn't lay a hand on him. "Hamish," he said softly. "I'm going to say something and I want you to nod if it's true, okay? Okay. There is too much going on."

John furrowed his brow and Sherlock waved him off, focused on Hamish as the boy finally looked up to him. There was a very small nod and Sherlock grinned — another good deduction but this one could be used to help the boy adjust.

"Alright, that's okay. Sometimes there's too much for me too," he acknowledged, scanning the boy again. "Okay, we can work with this. I want you to quickly categorize all the things. You know your senses, right? Sight, touch, sound, tase, and smell? The beeping at the door? That's a sound. The hard bench? That's a touch. And the lights? They’re a sight. Can you think about that?"

Another small nod and Hamish started going through everything mentally. The shoes all smelled really bad of rubber, and the entire store smelled of disinfectant. Each ding, despite feeling like lightning across the top of his head, was a sound. John's hand was a touch. The lights were a sight, even if they buzzed and caused a static fuzz in his mind. His clothes, the foot measurer, the shopping bags to his right and the slight draft across his face were all touches. The people's voices, the quiet music over the sound system, and shopping bags rustling were all sounds.

Sherlock was right. There was simply too much. It wasn't that it was too loud or too bright, there was just too much everything. He looked at Sherlock helplessly, waiting for him to explain how to magically make it all stop.

The look Sherlock got was heartbreaking. He remembered being small himself and feeling what Hamish must have been feeling. He gave a soft smile and nodded. "I can't get rid of all that but sometimes sorting it makes it better. And if you want to, you can cover your ears or close your eyes; sometimes limiting one type of thing can make it easier to deal with." Sherlock kept his voice low and even as he explained. He watched as the boy's hands stopped fidgeting and slowly moved to cover his ears.

The beeping quieted, so did the buzz of the light, and John had stopped touching his hair. Suddenly it was easier to deal with. Sherlock showed the measurer to the boy before carefully putting his socked foot on it to get a measure. It wasn't like it didn't exist, but it definitely wasn't as bad as it had been previously and Hamish left his foot still as Sherlock made note of the size.

* * *

Half an hour later, Hamish had two new pairs of shoes. The pair that he wore out of the store lit up when he stomped his foot and he kept stomping it to watch the lights twinkle. He’d never had a pair as cool as them, and he assumed they’d be really fast, too. It only took a couple minutes in the car before he realized that kicking the back of Sherlock’s seat also worked to get the shoe to light up.

“What!?” Rosie gasped as she climbed in the car next to Hamish. “I was never allowed to get the light up ones! Dad, how’d you let this injustice happen!?”

“The rules always loosen by the second child,” Sherlock said before winking at her. “Anyway, if you want light up shoes I think I saw a pair with unicorns on them and I’ll go back and get them if you want.”

“Dad, no. Unicorns aren’t cool anymore.”

“That’s why the unicorn shoes were on sale. All the more reason to buy them!”

* * *

After dinner, Rosie convinced Hamish to play tag with her in the living room and the two of them were running around and giggling when John called Hamish over.

"Hey," he said with a smile. "Tomorrow's gonna be your first day at Rosie's school."

Rosie trotted up behind with a big grin. "Oh, that's awesome! My friend Wyatt has a brother and sister in your class. They're twins and Wyatt says they're annoying but I think he's joking."

Hamish just looked between them and Sherlock, nodded, and started pulling at his shirt hem. 


	4. Chapter 4

Itchy shirts. Noisy children. Bright lights. Strict rules. Everything about school was exhausting. When John pulled up to pick the kids up, Hamish was sitting on the retaining wall, head hung with his arms wrapped tight around himself and Rosie stood next to him, biting at her lip. 

"Papa's here," Rosie murmured. Her eyes flicked quickly between the boy and her dad. Hamish was always quiet but he was typically more receptive than he was being just then and Rosie didn't know what to do to help. She waited for him to move before following him to the car. 

Sat in their seats, Rosie saw what must have been the reason Hamish was being so reserved. He held a slip of paper with a familiar heading. He'd been written up on his first day. He'd need to get a parent (or guardian's) signature and return it to his teacher on Monday. She had two options: tattle on the kid or distract John for as long as possible and Hamish could deal with it when he was ready. 

"Hey papa? Tara wants me to come over tomorrow," Rosie started, leaning forward to capture John's attention. "If I finish all my homework tonight, can I go? She has this new game that she wants to play and it sounds really fun!" 

John hummed, thinking for a moment. "I'll have to check with your dad but I think that sounds okay. You just need to finish all your work before you go and that means you have to clean your room on Sunday. I went in this morning to get your laundry and I could barely see the floor."

Rosie groaned and rolled her eyes. "I really don't get why my room has to be clean. As long as I keep my stuff out of the common rooms it doesn't bother anyone else!" 

"It's a safety thing," John explained. "If the fire alarm goes off in the middle of the night, you need to have a path to get out of your room. Plus, I said so. Keep arguing and I'll tell you no on going to Tara's." 

"But-"

"Don't 'but, papa' me," John said as he shook his head. "Either you agree to clean your room, or you stay home." 

"I still don't see why my room has to be clean," she muttered. 

"Rosie." 

"Yes, papa." 

Rosie was the first one in the house. She rushed up the stairs to get changed before starting her homework, leaving John and Hamish in the entryway. 

"Hamish," John said softly, his heart twisting at how Hamish stepped back. He smiled before kneeling to get on Hamish's level under the guise of taking his shoes off. "Did you have a good first day?" 

Hamish shrugged and kicked his shoes off, his write-up slip held tight in a sweaty fist. If he gave it now, Sherlock would be home later and would also be mad at him. He made the decision to hold onto it and give it when both of them were there. It would mean twice the anger at once but for half the time. 

"Yeah, first days are hard. Do you have any work to get done?" 

Hamish shook his head. 

"Alright then, you go upstairs and get changed and you can help me make dinner. Sound good?" 

Hamish shrugged again before heading towards the stairs, almost colliding with Rosie. 

"Oh, sorry. You're just so quiet, didn't know you were there," she said with a laugh before disappearing into the study to do her homework. 

When Hamish reemerged fifteen minutes later, he stopped halfway down the stairs, listening to Sherlock who had apparently gotten home. He froze, faced with the time to give them the slip. He pulled the crumpled form out of his pocket and stared at it, mentally preparing for whatever would come. Previous 'parents' had signed them without a single glance at the reasoning, others yelled, and others still made him physically pay for misbehaviour. His stomach knotted and he looked up, fighting the urge to run back to his room. 

John stood at the foot of the stairs, watching Hamish stare at the slip and he simply sighed. "Hey, Sherlock?" He called over his shoulder and his husband joined him. 

"Alright," Sherlock said, smiling up at Hamish. "Can we have a look, Mish?" 

Hamish looked up and his eyes flickered with recognition at the nickname. It was something familiar and good. Or at least not bad. His lip wobbled before he held it out. 

Sherlock took a couple steps up to grab the paper, but gave Hamish his space having seen the wild panic that was resting just beneath the surface. He read it over before letting John see it. "Okay, let's go sit down somewhere," he said, motioning towards the kitchen before reading Hamish and changing his mind. "How about you go get that lovely bumble bee Rosie got you and we can all sit on the floor upstairs?" 

Hamish nodded, cautiously turning his back and quickly climbing the stairs. 

Sherlock murmured something to John about leaving Hamish at least two ways out before they sat on the floor across from Hamish's room where Hamish sat when he returned with his knees drawn to his chest. 

"This says you 'refused to help clean up from playtime' and 'hid in the corner while the other kids cleaned' and ignored your teacher when she spoke to you" John read, making sure it was quiet enough that Rosie wouldn't be able to listen in. "Now, is that true?" 

Hamish shifted and hugged the stuffed bee closer before giving another shrug. It was the most honest answer he felt capable of giving and even if he could gather the words, he didn't want to say them for fear of being spoken to for talking back. 

"Misha, we're not mad," Sherlock promised. He watched the boy checking for places to run to, making himself small and less of a target and he promised himself that whoever had hurt this wonderful kid previously was going to pay. 

John squeezed Sherlock's hand and leaned against him, a small reminder to keep his anger at the system in check in front of Hamish. 

"Okay, did you help clean up from playtime?" Sherlock asked. 

Hamish shook his head, his eyes staring pointedly at the rug between John and Sherlock, and himself. 

"And did you hide in the corner?" 

Hamish nodded.

"Alright, were you hiding to avoid cleaning?" 

Hamish shook his head. 

"I think I know what happened," Sherlock said with a sigh. "Playtime was loud, right?"

_ Nod. _

"And you didn't play with anything?" 

_ Nod.  _

"So when they were cleaning, you wanted to get away from it all and hid in the corner."

_ Nod.  _

"And covered your ears?" 

Hamish looked up and nodded quickly, his mouth moving slightly before he shrunk back down. 

"Did your teacher make you remove your hands because you were ignoring her?" 

_ Nod. _

"Okay," Sherlock said softly with a nod, but John saw the anger behind it. "Alright. John and I will have a talk with your teacher. We aren't going to sign this but you won't get in trouble. I promise, Misha. And… you're safe here. I promise that too." 

Hamish stayed still as Sherlock stood and helped John to his feet, wrapping his arms around him before murmuring something. Hamish watched them while rocking himself slightly. 

John rubbed Sherlock's back, whispering a reminder to stay calm when Sherlock felt a gentle tug on his shirt. He hadn't had a small kid get his attention that way in many years and he quickly spun with a worried look before smiling at Hamish. The boy reached his hands up and Sherlock obeyed the request, picking him up and resting him on his hip. "Hey," he said softly, leaning against John as he looked him over. "It's alright. I've got you." 

Hamish looked at them both before tucking his head into Sherlock's neck, tears stinging at his eyes. 

They stood swaying for a few minutes before John suggested they go rest on the couch while he made dinner. 

* * *

When Rosie was sent to let them know dinner was ready, Sherlock shushed her quickly and pointed to Hamish who was sound asleep and drooling on his shoulder, sprawled across his chest. Rosie felt a pang of jealousy seeing Hamish in her place but smiled and went to alert John to the situation. 

"We should wake him up," John whispered, smiling at the two of them. "If he sleeps much longer, he won't sleep tonight." 

"He barely sleeps as it is," Sherlock countered. "At least he's resting." 

Sherlock could lay perfectly still for as long as Hamish needed him to. He monitored the boy's breathing and heart rate, memorizing exactly what this moment felt like. He didn't dare think about how long it had been since the boy had slept so soundly and he wasn't about to ruin it just for some food or a silly schedule. 

When Hamish finally woke up, the sun had gone down, John and Rosie were playing an intense card game and Sherlock had retreated to his mind palace but quickly resurfaced when he felt Hamish shifting. 

"Morning sleepyhead," he whispered, brushing the boy's curls from his face. "Sleep well?"

Hamish rubbed his eyes and gave a weak "yeah," as he sat up. "Hungry."

Sherlock knew better than to make a big deal at Hamish talking, but his eyes caught John's and he smiled. "Alrighty. Let's see what we can find you to eat," he murmured. "John and Rosie had soup: does that sound good?"

Hamish shook his head as he slipped to the floor. He yawned and stretched, still half asleep.

"Okay, how about… breakfast for dinner? Eggs and toast?" 

Hamish shook his head and his mouth moved but he said nothing. He paused and processed before whispering, barely above a breath, "Jus' toast?"

"I'd say yes but John thinks we need more protein. How about toast with peanut butter?" Sherlock stretched and stood up, squeezing Hamish's shoulder gently as they headed into the kitchen. Hamish nodded and hovered close to Sherlock as he made their dinner. A few times he leaned against his side, his eyes only half open. 

By the time Hamish finished his toast, which meant pulling the crust off and eating it before the rest, the boy was fully awake and full of energy whilst everyone else was winding down and just about ready to go to bed. John and Rosie went up to bed after a while, leaving Sherlock to watch Hamish who had discovered a box of Legos in the TV stand. Part of which he had dumped and began assembling into a poorly shaped airplane. Sherlock sighed and flipped the TV on, flipping through channels to find something worth his time, eventually settling on a nature documentary. He watched as Hamish slowly lost interest in the Legos and was drawn in to the doc. To test his hypothesis, he flipped to a bad sitcom, and watched Hamish's attention return to the toys before flipping back. The kid was fascinated by the documentary so he left it on, thinking at least he was sitting still for the time being. 

45 minutes later, when the documentary was over and Hamish's post-nap rush was gone, Sherlock carried the boy upstairs and tucked him in before joining his husband in bed, falling asleep almost immediately.  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting, I hit major block for a bit (and I've been busy in my personaly life) but I hope you enjoy!

Sherlock’s phone rang at 3am Saturday, meaning the caller had called twice within the ten minutes previous. Urgent then. 

Still half asleep, Sherlock answered the call and stepped out of the room so as to let John sleep. “This better be important if you are calling me three times at three in the morning, Lestrade.

...

“Oh.

...

“I’ll be there in two hours, just let me tell John and make sure he’s okay with the kids.”

He hung up the call and peered back into the room, unsurprised to see John was propped up on his side, peering at Sherlock. “Go on back to sleep. I’ve got a case in London but I should be back for dinner—or maybe breakfast tomorrow depending…”   
“Sherlock?” John murmured, watching his husband flit around in the dark to get himself ready.    
“Cases like this just don’t come around much, I’ve got to take it when it’s offered.”

“Sherlock.” 

“I’ll probably have to work with Anderson but it’s still-”

“Sherlock.”

“John?”

John sighed and sat up. “Are you sure you should be taking off?”   
“Yes, John. Months without a case more interesting than stolen comic books and now I get called into an investigation of a string of murders, most likely a serial killer? I should be gone already. Where are all my socks?” Sherlock’s mind was already rolling a mile a minute, not slowing down to discuss anything with John, or even think about the situation. 

John scrubbed his face, debating his options for a moment. “Your socks are downstairs in the basket on the dryer; I haven’t paired them yet” He waited another beat before turning his light on to look at Sherlock. “It’s your choice, but I meant should you be taking off so close to Hamish moving in and starting to settle? And if you think yes, will you please try your hardest to be back for dinner?”

“Oh,” Sherlock breathed, stopping with his shirt half buttoned. “I- Would you be okay with them both for the day?”   
“Of course I am, and I support you taking this case. I just- I need you to explain to Hamish when you come back why you had to go.” 

“Yes, alright. I can do that,” Sherlock answered before finishing getting ready, his mind distracted by how to explain this to Hamish. “You sure you’re good with them?”

John smiled at him and reached up to fix his collar. “Yeah. Rosie is going to Tara’s anyway so it will just be Hamish and me.”

“Alright,” Sherlock repeated. “I’m just a call away if you need me.” 

* * *

John didn't get a greeting before Rosie was asking him tons of questions about where Sherlock was, what his case was and why she wasn't allowed to go along. 

"He's on a case in London; Uncle Greg or maybe Uncle Myc called, I didn't think to ask. It's some sort of serial murder and you could go because you're far too young to be traipsing through crime scenes." 

Apparently his answers weren't satisfactory as she took to pouting on the couch until he offered to teach her to make omelettes the way Sherlock did. Her mood shifted dramatically and she joined him in the kitchen. 

"Why does dad make them so different to yours?" She questioned as they waited for the first to be ready. 

"I'm not entirely sure but I think he learned in France. I think he may have lived there for a while when he was about your age," John answered. Neither of them were at all aware of the sleepy-eyed boy in the doorway, fidgeting with his bee's wing. He watched them both for a moment before moving closer and leaning against the counter.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Rosie teased, reaching over to ruffle his hair but dropping it when he stepped back slightly. "I'm making omelettes. Papa claimed the first one but you can have the second." 

"You were too slow," John said with a smile, narrowing his eyes to try and get a read on what the boy was thinking. "Oh, Sherlock had to work in London today. He left early this morning and should be back tonight for dinner but we may be able to convince him to facetime this afternoon if we want. Now, how about that omelette?" 

Hamish listened carefully, nodding to show he understood. As for the breakfast offering, his attention turned to the pan and John's plate before shaking his head with a vague look of disgust. 

"Alright, no omelette," John chuckled and started rustling through the cabinets. "Let's see what we can find you… Sherlock had some PopTarts hidden away somewhere."

"No, dad and I finished them for dinner when you had that work meeting," Rosie said, giving her father a cheeky smile. "We have cereal though. Or I could make different types of eggs." 

Hamish didn't show interest in any of the options given until John offered to make him a smoothie. He watched as John pulled out frozen strawberries, bananas and spinach and dropped some of each into a blender with yogurt and powdered peanut butter (for extra protein). He was content until John flipped the blender on without warning. 

John cursed as Hamish stumbled back and clamped his hands over his ears, eyes blown wide. Rosie had been standing behind him eating her breakfast but when Hamish backed into her, she instinctively put her arm around him. John almost protested, having seen Hamish pull away from contact previously but this time the boy just looked up at Rosie expectantly. 

"It's okay," she promised softly before kneeling next to him. "Can you answer me one thing? Why was it so scary: because it was loud or because it was sudden?" With each option, Rosie put up one of her hands, palm up in front of her in order to represent each answer. When he didn't move to answer she rephrased. "Did the blender scare you because it was loud—" with this she motioned with her left hand, "or because you didn't have a warning?" She motioned with her right hand for the second option but Hamish had already moved to touch her right palm. She continued gathering information, establishing that Hamish wanted to stay while the blender was running and he wanted her to stay with him. 

John stood back and watched the two of them in silence, admiring how quickly Rosie adjusted to working on Hamish's terms. He gave a warning and waited for Hamish to cover his ears before flicking the blender on again. 

* * *

Rosie spent the rest of the morning continuing her two-option questioning, gathering as much information as possible while the tactic worked. She only let John take over when it came to getting Hamish into the shower. 

John attempted Rosie’s approach to information gathering, offering Hamish a shower or a bath, but Hamish just stared at the two and shrugged. John then turned to yes/no questions. “Would you like a shower?” 

Hamish shook his head. 

“Okay, how about a bath?”

Another head shake. 

“Well you have to get clean, can you show me what you want? If not I’m just going to start a shower,” John said softly, leaning on the vanity as Hamish shifted, eyeing the tub and rubbing the bee’s wing. “Alright. I’m turning the shower on. How about you get undressed and ready.” He rubbed his forehead as he turned the faucet on. It was going to be a long day if Hamish wasn’t going to communicate with him. 

He turned back to Hamish struggling to pull his shirt and sweatshirt off at the same time and reached to help before his eyes caught an old, almost healed scar on the boy’s hip. He stared for a moment before pulling the sweatshirt off. “Next time, it’s easier to do that one at a time, silly.” He offered a teasing grin before checking the shower temperature. “Alright, hop in.” He helped the boy wash his hair, using the time to check over for any other signs of injury. Alongside a plethora of small things, he quickly identified a fresh scar (4 inches long, 2 to 6 months old, caused by glass) on his elbow, a bruise (one week old) on his shoulder, and a matching one on his knee accompanied by a scab that the boy had evidently been picking at. 

John turned off the water and wrapped Hamish up in a towel as he told him some pointless story about Sherlock testing to see if Rosie’s shampoo was actually “tear free” as it advertised. He sent Hamish off to get dressed and pulled out his phone. 

* * *

**Get Mycroft to get his placement records. J**

_ What’s wrong? SWH _

**I need to meet with every single one of them personally and threaten to hang them by their toenails if they ever hurt this kid. J**

_ John, take a breath. SWH _

_ Should I come home? Is everyone alright? SWH _

**This isn’t just me getting over-protective. Misha has some suspicious scars. I want to press charges against anyone who hurt him. J**

_ Ok. Are you sure you want to drag Mish through that? Court isn’t the most calm of locations. And technically we cannot press charges. Not unless you want to adopt him first. Take a deep breath and answer me: should I come home? SHW _

**No, it’s okay. I can handle it. J**

**Just be home for dinner? J**

_ I’ll do my best, love. SWH _

* * *

Faced with a free afternoon with a kid that barely communicated with him with Rosie at Tara's, John decided to take him to the new hands-on children's museum. After a brief and half-silent argument at the car, John and Hamish went inside, Hamish's arms around his bee. 

John headed towards the quieter parts of the place, starting to try and get Hamish to interact with the exhibits. It took some time but eventually John found something that captured his attention. Hamish was sat next to a sandbox, pushing the sand into mountains and valleys, and every adjustment changed the projections coming from the ceiling. The low parts became water with fish swimming and the high parts looked like mountains. He stayed there for a few minutes before losing interest and moving on to various other activities from a pretend store and an oversized etch-a-sketch to a wall with tubes that sucked balls in and fired them into the air. He moved slowly and cautiously at first but once he'd adjusted, he handed John his bee and started bouncing around from activity to activity until settling at a water table. He dumped bucket after bucket of water down the waterwheel chute, watching with big eyes as it spun. 

Come lunch time, John had to literally place himself between Hamish and the gadget to get his attention. “C’mon, Mish,” he said softly. “We’ve got to head home. We can come back some other day. I think Sherlock would like this place too.” 

Hamish looked at him and his mouth moved, forming around words he never said, instead he nodded and followed. 

* * *

John made sure Hamish was settled in with his coloring book and a packet of fruit snacks he’d picked out from the snack drawer before retreating to the kitchen to start on making their dinner. Despite years of his  _ if I make dinner, Sherlock is sure to come home  _ theory failing, John kept trying it. He figured the worst that could happen would be he and Hamish had a nice dinner together. He was in the middle of peeling apples to make a pie when his phone started buzzing with the alert that Sherlock was trying to FaceTime. 

“Hey, is everything alright?” He answered, still wiping his hands off on a towel. 

“Hmm? Yeah, of course. I was actually calling to check in there, see how he’s doing?” Sherlock asked, smiling at John. 

John simply sighed. “You’re not going to make it home tonight, are you?”

“Would you hate me?” 

“I won’t. You know that," John sighed and looked through the doorway at Hamish. “I just can’t know if everyone will be as understanding..” 

Sherlock sighed and nodded. "Let me talk to him. Just give him the phone." 

John almost protested but took his phone to Hamish. "Bub, Sherlock wants to talk to you." He watched the boy's confusion before turning the phone to show it was a video call and Hamish took it. 

Sherlock smiled at him as he settled back in Lestrade's chair. "Heyya, Misha. I hear you went to the Discovery Zone today; did you have fun? What was the best part?" 

Hamish just blinked at him and looked at the sofa before turning focus back to the phone. 

"Mish," Sherlock started. "I don't think I'm going to be home tonight. I've got to stay to help. This is good; it means you and John get the night alone." He watched the quirk of Hamish's brow and the unsteady camera. It didn't take much to piece it together. 

"Can you give me back to John?" Sherlock asked with a smile that quickly faded when John had the phone. They switched to a phone call and Sherlock quickly rattled off a list of his deductions. "Hamish has trauma—obvious. He's faced emotional and physical abuse and he's never felt comfortable anywhere but he's communicated with both Rosie and myself and still won't with you. That's all okay. We can work with that but when I mentioned it would just be the two of you, he looked scared. My conclusion is he has faced some trauma at the hands of someone who you remind him of. That being said, I'm on my way home. I can finish the case from there." 

John didn't have time to react before Sherlock hung up and he was left to process the news that his foster kid was terrified of him.


	6. Chapter 6

By the time Sherlock walked in, Hamish was in an intense downward spiral. He had been watching the clock and Sherlock was running late. In addition, over the course of just a few minutes, he managed to get scared by John, step on a pile of legos, and then whack his head on the bunk beds. Curled up at the foot of the bottom bunk, he tried his best to keep from making a noise.

With only one foot in the door, Sherlock could tell something wasn't right. "John?" He called for his husband softly, checking each room before finding him cleaning up the legos. His brow creased as he watched, making a few deductions. John felt guilty, otherwise he wouldn't clean up the kid's toys. Quickly, he glanced around, torn between checking on Hamish or getting any information he could from John first. 

John looked up at him and sighed. "Go check on Hamish. He's anxious," he murmured. "He was watching the clock from the time I told him you'd be two hours and since you're running about twenty minutes behind, he's been jumpy." 

"I'm sorry, love," Sherlock whispered, rubbing John's back before turning to the stairs and quickly making his way to Hamish's door. He stopped outside, an ear pressed to the door before knocking. 

"Hamish, bud, I'm here. I'm going to come in," he said softly and didn't wait for an answer. He'd heard the boy's jagged breathing and needed to get his eyes on him. The door creaked open and he closed it behind himself, smiling softly to hide his concern. "Mish," he whispered as he lowered himself at the side of the bed. "Mish, it's okay. I'm here. You're safe." 

Sherlock reached a hand out, leaving it palm up about halfway between himself and Hamish. He wasn't sure if it would be accepted, but he needed to offer physical consoling (John had taught him such when Rosie was still a baby). He watched the boy peek out, his face red and a snotty, teary mess, and he had to stop himself from gathering the boy in his arms. 

"Hey," Sherlock breathed as Hamish hid his face back against the mattress. His entire body trembled as he struggled to not cry. He felt like someone had tied a rope around him making it impossible to breathe, his head throbbed where he had whacked it, and nothing was making any of it go away. 

"Hey," Sherlock repeated. "It's okay to cry, let it out, but pull your face out of the blankets. You need to breathe." His heart ached for the boy, watching him shake, verging on hyperventilating. When Hamish didn't move himself, Sherlock did so. He sat on the edge of the bed and slowly and gently pulled him by the shoulder. Carefully, he adjusted so Hamish's head was in his lap and pulled his hand off the blanket he was clutching. Expertly he managed to take Hamish's pulse as he did so, holding his wrist to track it. "It's okay," he hushed, closing his eyes. "I've got you. You're safe. I'm right here." 

Sherlock watched for what felt like hours as panic wrapped its way around every inch of Hamish's being. He kept whispering to him, talking him through it and coaching him how to breathe despite the monster that had captured him. His small body was still shaking when Sherlock shifted him into his arms, pulling him close to his chest. Hamish nuzzled closer, gripping Sherlock's coat collar tight. Sherlock leaned against the ladder to Hamish's bunk, continuing to murmur to the boy until he was reasonably calm. 

"Misha?" Sherlock asked softly. "Are you okay?" 

Hamish nodded a little. 

"Was this the first time you felt like this?" 

He shook his head. 

"Does it happen often?" 

Nod. 

Sherlock hummed and hugged Hamish a little tighter which surprisingly seemed to calm him. He sat for another few minutes before continuing his questioning. "Did something scare you?" 

Hamish shrugged and shifted, blinking rapidly to adjust to the light again. 

Sherlock watched him before asking the thing he didn't want to know the answer to. "Did John scare you?" 

The lack of answer was maybe worse than a nod or head shake. The not knowing left him with the assumption of yes, but he was too scared to tell Sherlock. 

Hamish rubbed his eyes and sniffled before biting at his lip. He looked up at Sherlock before hiding his face again, pulling at his ear as his mind rolled on. "Bumble," he finally whispered. 

"I'm sorry?" Sherlock asked, leaning closer. "Bumble?" 

Hamish nodded and looked up. "Bumble," he repeated, stressing it this time as he pulled at his ear. "My bee." 

Sherlock grinned and leaned back. "Is Bumble his name?" 

"Her name," the boy corrected softly, his voice shaking slightly. 

"Okay," Sherlock said with a smile. "Where is she?" 

Hamish shrugged and Sherlock stood up to carry Hamish downstairs, all information gathering paused for the time being to focus on the lost bee mission, and mostly to praise Hamish for asking for what he wanted. Halfway down, Hamish tucked his head back on Sherlock's shoulder, nuzzled against his neck as his fingers rubbed his scarf. 

"Hey papa?" Sherlock called, habitually calling John by Rosie's name for him because he was carrying a kid. He didn't even realize he had done it. "Do we know where Bumble is? She's Hamish's bee and I think she's awfully lonely down here." 

John had made himself a cup of tea and was trying to not let Hamish's uneasiness get to him but it wasn't easy. He looked up from the corner of the coffee table that he was staring a hole through and forced an uneasy smile. "Bumble, huh? I think she might be in the study." He watched Sherlock carefully, looking for any sign of how he had done calming Hamish down. All he could read was the ache they both had knowing Hamish had previously suffered so much. 

Sherlock took them to the study where he easily found Bumble amongst Hamish's coloring pages from earlier. He returned to John and smiled gently. "Hamish, can we say thank you to papa for finding her?" 

Hamish's arms were wrapped tight around the bee, one hand rubbing the wing against his lips. He tensed slightly, mouthing the words without saying anything, the wing still in the way before turning against Sherlock again. 

Sherlock rubbed his back and gave John a look. "I think we've all had a long day," he murmured. "How about we order something for dinner and watch a movie? How does that sound? Just the three of us?" 

"I think it's a wonderful idea," John answered softly. "I'll order dinner if you two choose a movie."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of notes I keep forgetting to add when I post:  
> 1\. I know literally nothing of the foster care system. Everything represented in this story is based on vague knowledge of the US system and a lot of assumptions.  
> 2\. I know just about the same amount of medical procedure meaning the contents of this chapter are shaky at best.  
> 3\. My posting schedule is sporadic but by this point, that's fairly obvious.

The more time Sherlock spent observing Hamish, the better he managed to predict how he would react to things. For example, school on Monday required both John and Sherlock to go in and argue against Hamish's write up. Sherlock had assumed a meltdown but observed a quiet but scared child. Tuesday night, Rosie had a football game and she asked if he wanted to go watch, but warned him sometimes it got loud and still Hamish nodded, surprising all of them. When Julie, a familiar face to Hamish, showed up for her check-in, Sherlock expected that to bring him comfort. Surprisingly, Hamish instead migrated towards Sherlock and tracked John carefully, making sure he didn't disappear. Sherlock couldn't make sense of that one, especially when he noted relief in response to John coming back into the room. 

The following two weeks however, things began to fall into place. Hamish was the type of kid to need to know the schedule so he had time to process what to expect. After a total meltdown on the sidelines of one of Rosie's games when Sherlock had to duck out early, John started a calendar board in the kitchen. Shortly after Sherlock developed a color-coded system to mark events. Meetings, games, appointments, and even shopping got planned out and marked down. 

Things were slowly improving as Hamish got more and more comfortable in his surroundings. He started to make his room his own, moving his belongings into the drawers and putting up some of his drawings with Rosie’s help. He even started talking when John was around. He always addressed Sherlock (or the floor) but he did talk more around others. 

* * *

A month into Hamish’s stay John and Sherlock had started discussing the possibility of fostering to adopt. They would continue to foster Hamish as they worked through the adoption process meaning a smooth transition for the boy. Before they could bring it up with Hamish though, they had to first make sure Rosie was still comfortable sharing her parents. Sherlock was going to bring it up before Hamish made his way downstairs but Rosie was adamant that she was going to win a debate about whether or not she could go on her team’s retreat. There was no way for Sherlock to wrap it up before Hamish made his way downstairs, sleepy-eyed but excited. Sherlock had taken him shopping the evening before while Rosie was at practice and he’d gotten him a treat. Despite being given the entire store to choose from, Hamish chose a bag of bagels. They were the little bagels and cinnamon raisin flavor. He’d had them once before and they were absolutely the best thing in his young mind.

Rosie and Sherlock were both deeply engaged in their debate and John was fighting with their new coffee maker and distracted by the manual and the reset process, muttering something about Sherlock insisting on the fancy thing while leaving him to figure out how to set it up. Hamish looked between them, knowing he should ask for help but everyone seemed too angry to interrupt them (at least not safely) so he took it upon himself. He found a knife from the block on the counter and pulled out one of the bagels. He’d seen the adults do this many times so he knew that if he held the pre-sliced bagel just right, the knife would just split it apart and he could put it in the toaster. He was right and the knife just slid right through. What he had not realized was that the adults typically were using a butter knife when they did it that way; what he had found was a paring knife. The blade cut right through the bagel and slipped out the other side, pulling across the heel of his hand.

Everything seemed to stop as he stared at the line that showed and watched it fill with blood. Quickly his brain was overwhelmed with panic and he dropped the knife and bagel on the counter. He held his hand out towards John and tried to say something to get his attention, only managing a shaky and unsure sound.

Sherlock and Rosie were still focused on their debate, but John heard the knife clatter simultaneously with the scared vocalization. He turned, dropping the coffee carafe in the sink as he saw Hamish’s hand. “Oh, go- Hamish, what happened?” He quickly got to his knees, pulling a tea towel off the cabinet door as he did. “It’s okay. Look at me, you’ve got to take a deep breath.” He’d watched the color drain from Hamish’s cheeks and could see him slipping into panic. “Hamish, take a deep breath. I’m going to take a look at your hand.” He reached out, taking the boy’s hand as he called for his husband. “Sherlock, I need some help.” 

“I’m bus-” Sherlock was cut off when he saw Rosie’s attention drop from the debate. He quickly turned, unsure what to expect but immediately jumped up and came to John’s side. “Stitches?”

“I don’t think so,” John answered as he pressed the towel against Hamish’s palm. “Go get my kit from the bathroom and grab me an ice pack on your way back. He turned his attention to the panic settling around Hamish. The cut could wait a couple minutes but he couldn’t ignore the looming panic. 

“Hamish, focus on me,” he started as Sherlock disappeared after the med-kit. “I need you to take a deep breath. Your hand is okay and if you trust me, we don’t even have to go anywhere. No A&E, no stitches, just some closures and me. Do you trust me?”  
Hamish’s ears were ringing and he struggled to follow John’s voice but he nodded and looked up. His eyes were scared and he looked expectantly to John as if he was going to make it go away. John calmly explained what he was going to do and promised that it was going to be okay. He also assured that if Hamish told him to stop, he would and they would go to the hospital instead. After a thorough explanation, Hamish agreed and melted into John’s lap, his eyes avoiding even glancing at his hand.

Having earned Hamish’s trust, John gently pulled the towel away, working with expert precision with his arms wrapped around him still. “Rosie, can you go and get his bee?” he asked, before thanking Sherlock quickly and rifling through his kit to find what he needed. He worked carefully but quickly, unsure how long he’d be able to keep Hamish from a meltdown. His assurances slowly became questions as he cleaned the cut and he managed to get a few nods or head shakes, even one hummed “uh-huh”. He had stopped the bleeding and was cleaning the application site for steristrips when Hamish suddenly and aggressively yelped “Don’t!” 

The sudden, confident outburst admittedly made John, Sherlock and Rosie look at each other and John answered. “I have to, Mish,” he murmured. “I need to make sure these stick. If they don’t, we’re going to need stitches and we’d have to go to the hospital for that. Would you rather go there?” 

“It hurts,” Hamish whimpered.

“I know. Trust me, I do, but I have to do it or it will hurt more for longer. Are you ready for me to do it?” When Hamish nodded, John had Sherlock hold the hand still as he wiped the alcohol swab across it. 

Hamish squirmed and whined, pulling his face away from John’s shirt where he had been hiding. Everything around him was wobbly or, and more likely, he was trembling, but that wasn’t how it felt to him. He couldn’t focus on anything but he did see his bee was the yellow lump sitting on his legs. With his unrestrained hand, he grabbed it and hugged it close. While he was aware that Sherlock was talking to him, he couldn’t manage to make it out either and instead focused fully on the texture of the bee’s wing on his lips. Since Sherlock had taught him how, he had mastered categorizing and tuning out certain sensory inputs. He typically could identify things that were bothering him and ignore them but this was different. All his senses were overwhelmed and he wasn’t sure how long he would be able to put up with it. His coping strategies weren’t touching it either and the texture of Bumble’s wing wasn’t enough to distract from the sting on his hand. 

Rosie was watching them all carefully, equally interested in how John dressed the wound, how Sherlock calmed him down, and how Hamish reacted. She watched him discover Bumble and hold her close, but it didn’t seem to calm him as much as it typically did. After a moment of thinking, she remembered a tactic Sherlock had used both for himself and to help Rosie or John calm down. He claimed that utilizing sense extremes at the same time forced the brain to be aware of the body and there was no way to not be present when fully aware of one’s body. For John after a stressful day of work, this was done by drawing him a bath and getting him a chilled glass of wine. For Rosie after an intense but important conversation about parents when she was about 6, Sherlock started a hot shower for her and gave her a fruit popsicle. 

Right then, she couldn’t get him a bath or shower but she could get something. She jumped up and grabbed a clean tea towel from the drawer and damped it with cold water. “Dad,” she said, catching Sherlock’s attention before tossing him the damp cloth. “Put it on the back of his neck.” 

Sherlock squinted at her for a moment, watching as she went under the sink for the dishpan and pieced it together. “Make sure it’s not too hot.”  
Rosie nodded as she turned the tap to hot to fill the dishpan. Once it was full, she took it around the island to Hamish’s feet. “Misha, buddy? I’m going to do something,” she said softly. “I’m gonna take off your socks and put your feet in this warm water. You don’t have to stay though; it might not feel good to you.” There was no reaction and she waited for a moment before touching him. She did as she explained she would and put his feet in the water, sitting back as she watched. 

John had secured the gauze and was just wrapping it with an ace bandage for extra protection as he watched silently. His concerns were that additional stimuli may overwhelm him more than calm him but to his surprise, Hamish seemed to maybe enjoy it. 

“Hamish,” Sherlock murmured, pushing the boy’s hair out of his eyes. “John’s done. He wrapped up your hand; it’s all covered up. Do you want to see?” He watched Hamish’s eyes peek open and he leaned into his sight-line with a soft smile. “You are so brave. I don’t know many kids who would be as brave as you are. I think you should look at the bandaging.”  
John stretched his foot to Rosie’s knee, catching her attention to mouth ‘good job’ for her awareness of the situation. His arm was still across Hamish’s chest, holding him gently. He dug through his bag again and pulled out paracetamol liquid and measured a dose before holding the little cup to Sherlock for him to give to Hamish. 

Sherlock made a face at the task mostly because he knew just how vile the liquid paracetamol tasted and he really didn't want to have to give it to anyone. He smiled and reached for Hamish's hair, pushing it back again. "Does your hand hurt, Mish? I bet it hurts pretty bad," he whispered. "I have some medicine that will make it feel better. Can you take it for me?” 

The face Hamish gave was heartbreaking but he did pull his hand away from the bee to take it. However, he immediately regretted it and his face contorted in disgust. “I don’ like it” he whined as he shook his head, handing the cup back to Sherlock as he hid behind Bumble again. 

John hugged him and pressed a kiss on the top of his head. He leaned against the cabinets next to him, watching the way Hamish attempted to self-soothe with the textured wing. “Misha, you are so brave. I’m so very proud of you.”

“Plus,” Rosie said, smiling as she looked at Hamish’s wrapped hand. “You’re gonna have a scar to show off and when you’re my age, everyone thinks that scars are the coolest.”

Hamish looked at her before following her eye-line to his wrapped hand. He moved it out from under the ice pack and looked at his fingers as he wiggled them. “I ‘ve others,” he murmured. “They’re cool?” 

“Yeah! My friends like talking about their scars,” Rosie answered and shifted closer. “Like, I have a scar on my knee from where I fell down when I was like eight and cut my knee on a rock. My friends want to see it all the time because it looks like a smiley face.” 

Hamish chewed at his lip for a moment and, just when Rosie was assuming he wasn’t going to answer, he looked at her. “Can I see?”  
Rosie grinned and nodded, pulling her pant leg up to reveal the scar that did indeed resemble a smiley face. She pointed out a couple other ones, mostly small and insignificant but she could still remember the story of each and every one of them. She was talking about the one from her friend’s cleat when John shifted, pulling Hamish’s attention. He blinked and wrapped his arms around Bumble, waiting cautiously for John to say something.  
“Mish, my leg is falling asleep,” John murmured as he brushed his fingers through his hair, getting the boy to look back to him. “I’m gonna have to get up. If you want, I can sit on the couch with you? Or you can do what you’d like by yourself.” Hamish was so close to him, he could smell the kid’s shampoo they’d picked out together and he saw the question percolating through his mind as he processed his options.  
When he finally answered, it was through Bumble’s wing, a shield of sorts. “Couch,” he whispered, his eyes darting to Sherlock who gave him an encouraging smile. “Couch with you,” he clarified, his head tipping back to press against John.

“Okay,” John answered steadily, despite his whole understanding of interacting with Hamish falling down around him. “Alright, Sherlock, would you help us up?”

“Of course,” Sherlock answered and reached a hand out to lift John up with Hamish in his arms. “I’m going to make some breakfast. You three settle in and talk about scars a little more and when I’m done, we can all watch a movie or something. How’s that sound, buddy?” 

Hamish put his head on John's shoulder, looking up at Sherlock, his eyes showing how tired he was. “...not hungry,” he whispered. 

Typically John was the one to argue these statements with the kids (and Sherlock) and this time was no different. He just hummed an acknowledgement before Sherlock could even answer. “Sherlock is going to make some things for breakfast, you don’t have to eat much, but a little bit would do you good. Is your tummy upset?” He rubbed Hamish’s back as he headed them towards the couch with Rosie. “Sometimes stress or being scared or being hurt makes my stomach feel weird and I don’t want to eat anything but almost always I feel better after eating something small. Will you at least try?” 

Rosie plopped herself by the arm of the couch, watching John with Sherlock-level concentration. “Papa? Are we staying home from school today?” 

The question caught Hamish’s attention; he hadn’t thought about the possibility of school yet and if he had to go, he was already tired and being tired made everything worse on a normal day. John hummed in response to Rosie as he sat down with Hamish. “I think you’ve earned a quiet day at home,” he answered, nudging Hamish softly. “How’s that sound? A day at home? We’ve had a scary morning so I think it’s only fair.”  
Rosie grinned and nodded before launching into a story about how John had a really cool scar on his shoulder, but she had lost Hamish’s attention. He was struggling to keep his eyes open, even after he picked his head up. After a couple times of his head dropping before quickly realizing and picking it back up, he started fidgeting with the bandage on his hand. He was still fighting the exhaustion when Sherlock came with a plate of toast for him, promising Rosie and John he was working on their breakfast but by the time it came, Hamish was sound asleep. He’d started pulling the crust off a piece of toast, but was asleep before even taking a bite.  
Sherlock returned with eggs and toast for himself, John and Rosie and smiled at the sight of them. “You did good, kiddo,” he told Rosie as he sat with them. “Are you sure you want to be a detective? I think you might make a good nurse.” 

“Don’t be daft, dad,” Rosie answered. “Papa has told me that you made a good nurse at times too. I can do both.” 

John chuckled and raised his eyebrows as he handed Hamish’s plate to Sherlock to have him put it on the coffee table. “Good point, but I do have a question,” he started, making sure Hamish was actually asleep before continuing. “When Jenna was with us, she fell and hurt her wrist but you didn’t take care of her the way you did with Hamish this morning. Is there a reason for that?”  
Rosie paused with her fork in midair, biting at her lip as she debated if she wanted to answer honestly. “He needs us,” she answered before taking a bite.  
“So did Jenna.”  
“It’s not the same. Jenna and Zack and Maya and Casey and all the others had families they were gonna go home to. They didn’t need you or me, they just needed a place to be until their families were ready for them. Hamish needs us,” Rosie explained to her lap. “He doesn’t have a family; he just has us. And he needs to know we want him.” 

John and Sherlock just looked at each other, silently having a full conversation about the best course of action before John nodded, letting Sherlock take the lead on the next part of the conversation. 

“Rosie,” Sherlock started, watching her cut apart her eggs with her fork as a manufactured excuse for not making eye contact. “How do you feel about adopting Hamish? I know it’s a lot different than foster care but-”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Rosie interrupted, finally looking up. “I think it would be good for him to know we aren’t going to send him away. He likes knowing the plan and right now he doesn’t know how long he’s going to be here and he’s getting better but I see him watch when you two are talking. It's like he's waiting for you to tell him he needs to leave. I want you to adopt him. I want him to stay." 

John let out a sigh of relief and leaned his head on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock simply squeezed his husband's hand and watched Rosie. "You've put a lot of thought into this," he stated. 

"Yeah, but I didn't want to suggest it if you didn't want to adopt," Rosie said. "I know- papa, I know he doesn't usually talk around you but he's just scared. He'll adjust and it'll be good. Plus you earned his trust today." 

John smiled at her before looking at Hamish. "I think you’re right,” he murmured. “I think you’re very right.” 

“Good thing there’s enough to share, right Rosie?” Sherlock asked and pulled the girl to his side.


	8. Chapter 8

As Hamish’s hand was nursed back to health, he had no choice but to learn to trust John. At least once a day, John cleaned and re-bandaged Hamish’s hand. By the third day, Hamish was consistently answering the questions he was asked. At the same time, he had started talking to Sherlock and was beginning to chat with Rosie about meaningless topics. In fact, he was telling Rosie about a book that his teacher had read them when they walked in the front door of the house. Hamish’s hand was pretty close to healed but John still wanted it covered so he had a corner of tape that he was pulling at when he stopped mid sentence, frozen and staring into the sitting room.

“What’s up, bud?” Rosie asked before rounding the corner inside. What caused Hamish to freeze, caused her to grin and rush forward. “Uncle Myc!” Her outburst caught Hamish off guard and he stagger-stepped back to Sherlock, reaching to grab onto his shirt or arm or anything. 

“Rosamund, you have dirt on your nose. Were you roughhousing with the boys again?” 

The man’s voice was smooth and calm but something about his very presence sent a shiver down Hamish’s spine. Sherlock sighed as he scooped Hamish into his arms. “This is just my brother, Misha,” he assured. “His name is Mycroft, but Rosie calls him Myc. And he’s not at all a threat to anyone in this room. Though I may be a threat to him if he doesn’t give me a damn good reason for showing up at my home unannounced despite his obvious knowledge of the needs of a schedule to my family.” His eyes went from assuring Hamish to glaring daggers at his brother in a smooth second, but only after Hamish had looked away. 

John had been in the kitchen making Mycroft his tea when Sherlock and the kids had gotten home. “Sherlock,” he said in a warning tone and met eyes with his husband. 

“Ah, yes,” Mycroft said with a smile at his brother. “I’m pleased to see that John has learned Mother’s warning tone; you best obey.” He shifted his umbrella to the side and reached forward to rub the dirt off his niece's nose before sending her to get changed. “I simply heard about a new addition to the family and I would like to meet him. I also have connections that may expedite your process as well as some information regarding some services that may need to be  _ adopted _ in the kids’ school, based on reports I have heard.”

The way Mycroft stressed the word adopted made Sherlock narrow his eyes further, warning him not to say anything further. He and John had made the decision not to tell Hamish that they were going through with the process to adopt him until they were at least fairly certain that it would go through without a hitch. They figured that, if it were to fall through, it was a pain that he didn’t need to take on. Now, all the delicate phrasing of conversations, the filling out paperwork and the weekly meetings with “a friend of Julie’s” who was a family counselor were all about to be blown because his nosey brother couldn’t mind his own business for more than a day. 

“You seem to have a lot of intel on how to raise a kid from someone who is not only childless but also partner-less,” Sherlock quipped. He took a seat on the end of the couch, giving Hamish as much space as possible between himself and the stranger in his living room. He continued to glare at his brother as Hamish curled up on his lap, peeking out at Mycroft.

John entered and sighed as he gave Mycroft his tea. “Is there no way you two could just act like adults and not insult each other for ten minutes? Sherlock, your brother wants to help. He can almost guarantee that our… petition will go through without a problem and he has some financial aid he wants to give the school to support hiring teacher’s aids for classes with students that need a little extra care. This isn’t a bad thing, you’re just bitter because he came to help without you asking, or should I say demanding, him to.” Mycroft chuckled at John’s comments but silenced himself with John’s glare turned to him. “As for you, you have way more information than you let on. I’m sure you know about everything going on in this household and outside of it. You know when the kids are at school, when they are out sick, and you sure as hell know all of the stresses that we’re dealing with regarding that seeing as you’re offering funding to help. Next time you show up unannounced, I will send you away.” Having shared his anger equally, John nodded and let them continue, but only after a warning look to Mycroft, reminding him not to blow it.

“Sherlock, I’ll have you know that I am happily seeing someone,” Mycroft said calmly.

“I would love to meet them,” Sherlock answered, his focus turned to Hamish as he started pulling his bandaging off. “Hey, hey,” he murmured, gently putting his hand over Hamish’s. “Let’s leave that on. Just for now. John said you can take it off tonight.” He brushed a hand through Hamish’s, glaring at his brother and daring him to say a word about sentiment or whatever. 

John watched them before sitting next to Sherlock, adding an extra barrier between Hamish and Mycroft. “You can go up to your room if you’d feel better,” he whispered and smiled when Hamish shook his head, meaning he felt safer in Sherlock’s arms than alone in his room. 

Mycroft watched the three of them with great interest before Rosie came down the stairs. “Fatherhood suits you,” he said before nodding and turning his attention to Rosie. “Now, you. You’re going to have to stop wrestling in the school yard if you ever want to have a respectable job, young lady.”

Rosie scrunched up her nose and shook her head. “I want to be a star footballer who is also a doctor and solves crimes. I’m never gonna have a dumb job like yours.” 

“We’ll see about that. Where’s your chess board? Let’s play a game.” 

As Rosie went off to find the pieces Sherlock had been using to walk Rosie through one of his cases the other day, Mycroft focused back in on the conversation. “I have some ties with that portion of the government that may help to expedite the process. I understand if you want to do this the honest way but if you’re looking to get early intervention in  _ behavioral differences _ you should want to get this part done fast. There’s only so much you can do without direct permission from the higher ups, as I’m sure you’re aware. I’m saying I can get the six month process down to about two and maybe even less.” 

Rosie had returned and was setting up the chess game as she listened, trying to find something that let her know if she was on the right track as to what they were discussing. “You go first, Uncle Myc,” she said, thinking that maybe, if she broke his concentration, he wouldn’t be able to keep up the conversation in code and let her know what they were discussing for sure. 

“What would we owe you?” Sherlock asked as he again stopped Hamish from pulling his bandage off. 

“Nothing,” Mycroft answered as he took his first move against Rosie. “I simply want to use my connections to make my family’s life a little easier. Is there something wrong with that?”

“It’s out of character.”

“Is it really?”

John chuckled and shook his head. “I do remember him offering me money to spy on you when we first met simply to make sure you were safe. I also still regret turning it down.”

“And Gregory,” Mycroft pointed out before looking away, avoiding Sherlock's analytical eye. “Lestrade that is. I hired him to go after you and offer you work with the Yard back when you were … in a less than desirable position.”

Sherlock hummed and tipped his head. “You did not. I found Lestrade and convinced him I knew what I was doing by solving the case he’d been unable to solve. Now, tell me about this ‘someone’ who you are ‘happily seeing’. It wouldn’t happen to be someone you used to employ to babysit me, would it?”

This was something Rosie understood and she sat up, looking at Mycroft before grinning. “Are you dating Uncle Greg!?” 

“Nonsense, and not the point of my visit,” Mycroft snipped and made a move quickly, unknowingly setting Rosie up to win the game. 

“Check mate!” Rosie said proudly and smiled at him. She had never managed to win against either Mycroft or Sherlock (John was easy). Not only had she won, she figured out part of what they were talking about. 

“Seems like you’re slipping,  _ Myc _ . You lost to a child.” Sherlock smirked and winked at Rosie. 

“Rosie, can you take Misha and find yourselves a snack to eat in the kitchen? We need to talk with Mycroft a little bit,” John said softly, giving her a nod that told her she had to say yes. 

“I was gonna play another game, but… I guess I can wait until after,” Rosie said before getting to her feet. “Misha, how ‘bout you go get changed and I’ll find us a snack.” It was obvious that Hamish didn’t want to leave the safety of Sherlock’s lap but he nodded and slipped away, glancing over his shoulder at Mycroft as he left the room. 

“I’m happy you and Geoff finally acknowledged your mutual feelings,” Sherlock poked, continuing the relationship conversation in attempts to bore Rosie into actually walking away instead of standing just out of view and listening. 

“It’s Greg and you know it. And you’re one to talk,” Mycroft countered and nodded towards John. 

“That’s different,” Sherlock said quickly before settling into the real conversation at hand. “What are your requirements if we accept your interference into the adoption?”

“Well, nothing as big as you’re thinking. I do have one case that I would need your assistance with but it will be interesting, I can promise you that. In regards to the boy, you all will continue with your family counseling but he should see someone on his own as well. And Mother and Father will want to be involved.I also think that there are some changes that would be beneficial to make in regards to his schooling as well, hence the funding I have offered. If he can get an aid in his class who understands his needs and triggers, he may be able to better adjust to the situation and even become social. I suggested Mummy do this for you but she refused, thinking it would do nothing.” 

“I have been looking at other, more specialized schools in the area that may actually be better for him,” John offered, biting his lip. 

“You didn’t tell me that. You agreed when I told you that will only limit his social opportunities and lead him to believe he is different or broken which is simply not true.” Sherlock was staring at his husband, watching for signs of deception. If he had hidden his research into “othering” Hamish, what else could he be hiding? 

“Actually there is a local school with a 3-2 program,” Mycroft offered. “He would attend his normal school with an aid from this other school three days a week and those other two days, he would go to a different school where he could get more one-on-one and hands-on education. Though it’s a new program, they’ve shown great success in helping kids with trauma or developmental delays.”

“This doesn’t have to be decided today,” Sherlock stated. “The foster system won’t pay for a different school and won’t allow us to pay out of pocket until he is adopted so we can wait until closer to that to decide.”

John nodded and reached for Sherlock’s hand. “Agreed.”

“He’s already going to be adopted with two dads, I don’t want him to deal with this as well,” Sherlock stated, watching John. 

“So are you accepting my help?”

“Only if you keep the terms the same. Once he’s adopted, you can’t change your mind and decide he needs to be —“ Sherlock was cut off by Mycroft’s hand being raised, eyes directed to the stairs. 

“We have little ears listening,” Mycroft said simply. 

Sherlock was the first one to stand, immediately rounding the corner to see Hamish standing about halfway up the stairs, staring at the doorway. He swallowed before slowly moving up to Hamish, sitting on the step below him. “Mish,” he whispered, waving Rosie away from the doorway as the house went still. Mycroft stayed on the couch as John joined Sherlock and Rosie moved out of sight but within earshot. 

“Mish,” Sherlock repeated, taking in every facet of the moment that he could. Hamish had put on what John called his favorite outfit but what Sherlock knew was the combination of clothes with the least irritation and therefore what he felt most comfortable in. He even had his socks inside-out so the seam on the toe wouldn’t irritate him. He was preparing. Something about him knew that there was something coming and he was preparing for when it all came to a head. His small hands were twisting and pulling at his shirt while also pulling the tape off his bandaging. His face was blank but clearly his mind was running through something at light speed. He didn’t react when John put a hand on his ankle, or when Sherlock repeated his name multiple times.

“You’re... gonna ‘dopt me?” 

The boy's voice was sudden and shocking. Both John and Sherlock were sure that he was going to be silent until at least Mycroft had left but more than likely for the rest of the day. The sudden full sentence caused both of them to blink and look at each other at a loss for words. 

“If you want us to,” John answered, his free hand tightly gripping Sherlock’s. This isn’t how either of them imagined this situation playing out, and it could still turn sour at any moment. 

Hamish turned his attention to his hands where he had pulled the gauze fully off and he handed it to John who took it and set it aside to return his hand to the boy’s ankle. Hamish stared at the healed cut for another tense and quiet moment before nodding. “I get to stay here?”

“Of course,” Sherlock answered quickly, noting the phrasing.  _ Get to _ meant he wanted to, that he liked it there and felt safe. He squeezed John’s hand and reached his other to stop Hamish from picking at his scab. “Do you want to stay here? Do you want us to adopt you?” He knew better than to ask two questions at once, typically he wouldn’t get an answer at all but this time was different. 

This time, Hamish just nodded and sunk down to Sherlock, pushing his face into his shoulder. “I wanna stay,” he whimpered. 

Sherlock felt the warm dampness coming from Hamish’s tears and wrapped his arms around him. “Okay,” he whispered. “You can stay. We’ll make it so you can stay. No more stranger’s homes.” He closed his eyes, struggling to keep his voice even to comfort the emotional mess of a boy. He again squeezed John’s hand and rubbed Hamish’s back. 

John shifted closer, awkwardly perched on the step to run his hand through Hamish’s hair. He didn’t have words. All he could muster was a gentle promise; “You can stay forever, Misha.” The boy nodded against Sherlock’s shirt and sniffled but he didn’t have anything else to say. 

Hamish was used to being told a family was going to adopt him. Three times prior he had been through it but this time was different. This time he actually wanted to stay there. He was safe. No one in that house had hurt him or tricked him and they didn’t get angry when he fell apart, even when it was in public and “embarrassing”. They didn’t get mad at him when he was different. Or ever really. He had cut his hand and they never yelled at him for using the wrong knife or not asking for help, they simply explained what he’d done wrong and reminded him they were there to help him. 

Last time he was set to be adopted was about a year ago and the couple had no other kids. They were fostering to adopt and a couple weeks before receiving the final okay, they found out that they were going to have a child of their own. Very soon after that, Hamish had found himself in Julie’s office again with another promise broken. This time it felt different though. They wanted Hamish as he was, not as a replacement for a  _ real _ kid; they already had one of them and they still wanted him. The very idea of being wanted and loved overwhelmed him and for some reason he was crying. He gripped onto Sherlock’s shirt, holding him close as he let the world around him disappear. 

They wanted him. They wanted him to stay. And he wanted to stay too. 

* * *

Hamish wasn’t aware that they had moved, but when he pulled his face off Sherlock’s shirt, he was in a different room. At some point, Sherlock had carried him into the master bedroom and laid on his and John’s bed as he gently rubbed Hamish’s back. John wasn’t anywhere to be seen but Hamish could hear Rosie’s voice from downstairs retelling how she scored a goal in the last game of the season. 

Sherlock felt Hamish shift next to him and smiled at him. “Hey,” he breathed, his fingers delicately pushing back the boy’s messy hair. 

Hamish sniffled and looked at the wet patch on Sherlock’s shirt before hiding his face again. 

“Hamish,” Sherlock whispered. “It’s okay. It’s a lot right now, isn’t it?” 

Hamish nodded, his words gone again. He picked up his head again and looked at Sherlock who just smiled. “We’re going to adopt you,” he promised, repeating the word to make sure Hamish knew it was really going to happen. “How about you go grab Bumble and then we can go back downstairs?” 

Hamish shook his head and tightened his grip on Sherlock’s shirt, a silent way of saying he didn’t want to be left alone. 

“Alright, then I’m gonna get up and put a clean shirt on and we can both grab Bumble before going downstairs together,” Sherlock countered. “I just need you to let go so I can change. I’ve just gotta go into the closet but I’m not going to leave you.” He smiled as Hamish tentatively rolled off him, sitting in the middle of the bed, eyes tracking Sherlock. 

* * *

Downstairs, Rosie and Mycroft were in an intense game of chess while Mycroft and John discussed the details of the adoption process as well as the best time to tell people they were going through with it, and how to deal with the press when the inevitably get ahold of the story that famed detective Sherlock Holmes was adopting a kid. 

John was in the middle of explaining his idea to break the story on his blog before any major press could get a hold of it, this way he and Sherlock would control the story and how it was told when he heard Sherlock whispering to Hamish in the doorway. He turned with a smile and shifted to make room for them on the couch. “Heya, Mish,” he greeted as the kid climbed onto the couch next to him. “Do you think I can look at your hand?” 

Hamish hesitated, looking at Mycroft before nodding and showing John his uninjured hand, hiding a smile behind his bee. 

“I-“ John started before catching the smile. A joke. Hamish was joking. He chuckled and shook his head, trying to come up with another time Hamish had joked.

Sherlock sat on Hamish’s other side and chuckled before nudging the boy. “You healed fast, bud,” he praised as he ruffled his hair. “Show him the other one.” 

Hamish giggled and switched hands, leaning his head on Sherlock’s shoulder as John inspected his hand. 

Mycroft watched them, humming to himself before nodding. “I should take off. I have plans for dinner,” he said. “I’m glad to see you’re all doing well. I’ll let you know when there’s some progress on the adoption.”

“Thank you again, Myc,” John said without turning his attention from Hamish’s hand.

Rosie giggled as she put the chess board away. “I got papa to call you Myc,” she boasted, knowing how much Mycroft would hate it. 

“I see you have,” Mycroft sighed and ruffled her hair. “I‘ll let you live to tell about it, but next time… next time expect repercussions, kiddo.” 

Sherlock smirked at Rosie’s comment and watched Mycroft stand. He almost let him leave without comment but John kicked him gently causing him to get up, leaving Hamish to walk Mycroft to the door. “I appreciate the help, brother mine,” he said as he followed Mycroft to the entryway. 

“I think a different school would be beneficial,” Mycroft commented. 

“We’re not doing this, Mycroft,” Sherlock sighed. “I have enough on my plate at the moment and right now I have a kid with some pretty big emotions and no way to communicate them so if you wouldn’t mind getting on your way…” 

Mycroft sighed and watched Sherlock for a moment. “Call mother; she misses you.” He nodded and left. 


	9. Chapter 9

For three days after Mycroft’s visit, the only words to come out of Hamish’s mouth were questions about whether they were going to adopt him for real and forever. Once he was assured of that, he moved on to working out the timeline. What was the process? When would it be done? When would they have to do things? Would he have to talk to people? If he couldn’t, would they cancel the adoption? What if he got in trouble at school; would they cancel it then? 

Friday morning Hamish had murmured something about not wanting to go to school but both John and Sherlock didn’t take any stock in it seeing as he had never liked going to school. They were proven wrong when, around lunch time, Sherlock got a call alerting him that Hamish had shoved a kid and needed to be picked up.

For a decent stint a year prior, Rosie had been picking fights almost daily so picking a kid up from the office was no new task for Sherlock. What was different was the way the kids looked when they got picked up. Rosie was somehow proud of herself like, despite the fact that she had gotten in trouble, the trouble was worthwhile and meaningful. Hamish however just looked utterly terrified. Also concerning was that Hamish was still in the headmaster’s office when Sherlock got there. The only time Rosie was still in the headmaster’s office and not just waiting across from the secretary’s desk was when she had broken a kid’s nose. (That was also, thankfully, the last time she ended up in the office.) 

Sherlock entered the office without saying a word, focused on Hamish as he tried to work out exactly what to expect. The boy was sitting in a chair across from the headmaster with his arms wrapped around his knees, pulling them to his chest. His gaze was a million miles away and he was shaking as he blindly picked at his cuticles. Sherlock didn’t acknowledge either the secretary or the headmaster, instead crouching next to Hamish’s chair, leaning into his sight line. He put a smile on and murmured, “Hamish? Bud, we’re gonna go home. Okay?” 

Unsurprisingly, Hamish didn’t answer but Sherlock stayed at his level as he glanced at the headmaster. “No, I don’t want to discuss what happened and if you don’t want me telling the missus about your drinking problem, I suggest you don’t push it. My son here has been having a rough time outside of school and nothing you have to tell me will be helpful or a surprise. Now can you give us a minute? Close the door as you go.” 

Sherlock was calm and gentle as he rattled everything off, making sure everything Hamish could see or hear was soft but the daggers he glared when the headmaster went to argue were anything but. He smiled and nodded as the door closed and he was left alone with Hamish who was now just staring at him. 

“Hey bud,” he whispered, tipping his head as he observed Hamish. “I’m very sorry we didn’t listen to you this morning when you said you didn’t want to come today. We were wrong and we should have listened.” He paused for a second, watching the boy before making a connection. “I am not mad about what happened and neither is John. We won’t punish you. I promise.” 

Sherlock noted Hamish’s quick avoidance of eye contact at the mere mention of punishment, thus supporting his theory about Hamish’s fears. He swallowed, knowing better than to make a comment, and stood up. “C’mon bud,” he said softly, offering a hand to the boy. He didn’t expect him to accept as he was typically the type of kid to insist he could do things himself (hence the bagel incident). Shockingly, Hamish unfurled from the chair and reached his arms up to be carried. 

Sherlock blinked before accepting and hoisting the boy to his hip. “You know, you’re getting a little big to be carried,” he murmured, but smiled at the warmth of Hamish’s forehead against his neck. He adjusted his grip on the boy before heading to the secretary’s desk to sign him out and take him home. 

Hamish’s cubby was in the hallway and Sherlock quickly gathered the boy’s backpack and coat before taking him to the car, intensely aware of Hamish’s slight shivering. 

Once in the car, Hamish pulled his knees back to his chest, making himself as small as possible. He watched Sherlock pull out his phone before whispering, almost too quiet for Sherlock to understand, “I don’ like it here.”

Sherlock froze, processing the information to make sure he had heard it correctly. He blinked and turned to look at him, hiding his concern. “Did you say you do or don’t?” 

“Don’t,” Hamish answered, pulling the padding off his armrest and inspecting it. He needed something for his hands to do and to keep himself from watching Sherlock because the man’s eyes were cold and serious, even if his face wasn’t. 

Sherlock watched the boy fidget with the fabric, searching for a texture to focus on as his own mind ran through a thousand scenarios that would possibly explain this situation. “Hamish, love,” he started, “If you don’t like it here, why did you tell us that you want to stay?” 

Hamish raised his shoulders but didn’t answer. He didn’t have words and he felt the tightness in his chest. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything. He should have stayed quiet, at least until the adoption was final but he needed them to know.

Sherlock swallowed and nodded slightly. He forced a small smile and turned back to start the car. “It’s been a long day,” he said. “Let’s go home and we can discuss it later. Thank you for telling me how you feel.” 

* * *

For the first time, the silence on the ride home was tense. They both felt it and neither of them knew how to break it, or if they even should. Sherlock was running over what could have possibly changed Hamish’s mind and Hamish was focused on Sherlock, watching for signs of anger. Sherlock broke the silence as he pulled Hamish’s door open at the house. “Let’s get some lunch and maybe take a nap,” he said, his voice even and controlled, not allowing any emotion in. As he reached to help Hamish unbuckle, the situation quickly devolved. Within a second, Hamish went from quietly watching Sherlock to pushing the man’s arm away and preparing to defend himself. Tears sprung in his eyes as he whimpered. He swatted at Sherlock again, leaning as far away as the seat belt would let him. 

Quickly, Sherlock recoiled and blinked in surprise. He had seen many of Hamish’s meltdowns and they typically were internal. Though he didn’t want to be touched, he usually avoided it by just moving away; the aggression was out of the ordinary. It was also something Sherlock had no clue how to deal with. He stepped back, watching as Hamish’s face contorted and tears started falling. “Hamish, bud…” he murmured, unsure if he should intrude or not. 

Hamish pulled himself back up and let his feet fall off the seat as he tried to unbuckle. He fumbled before getting frustrated and kicking the seat in front of him. He let out an angry cry before throwing his head back against the headrest with such force Sherlock wondered if he’d hit the main internal support.

Sherlock took this as his sign to step in. He couldn’t take watching Hamish’s flushed face as he cried and squirmed in his seat. He carefully reached across Hamish and unbuckled him, ignoring the kid pushing him and whining in his ear. He pulled away and Hamish whimpered, sliding out of the car. 

Watching Hamish so frustrated honestly scared Sherlock. He was at a loss of what to do and decided to kneel in front of Hamish so, if the boy needed it, he would be there. He also started murmuring, trying to help Hamish ground himself but there are only so many ways to remind a kid to breathe. He let the boy have his cry for a couple minutes before cautiously reaching out and putting a hand on his upper arm. 

“Hamish, love,” he whispered. “Hey…” He trailed off, unsure of what to say as he watched the boy sniffle and regain himself. 

To Sherlock’s surprise, Hamish pushed into his touch. It was a constant. The entire world felt as if it were spinning but the warmth of Sherlock’s hand didn’t change. He blinked away the blur of tears as he grabbed ahold of Sherlock’s arm, which Sherlock took to mean he could pick him up. Cautiously he wrapped an arm around the boy and stood, ready for flailing limbs or screaming but instead he just heard Hamish’s little hiccups. 

“I’ve got you, kiddo,” Sherlock whispered as he struggled to get the door open. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.” He continued murmuring affirmations until he was sitting in the armchair with the snot-nosed, red-faced Hamish on his lap. “You’re okay,” he promised before realizing he couldn’t possibly know that for sure. “Are you okay, Misha?”

Hamish rubbed his eyes as they sat down, unwilling to show Sherlock his face. He shrugged at the question, having no solid yes or no answer and no words to properly answer. He instead whimpered and put his head down on Sherlock’s shoulder, feeling overwhelmingly exhausted. Sherlock at some point started to hum and shortly after that, Hamish was sound asleep. 

* * *

Sherlock sat with him for over an hour before his legs started to go to sleep which was when moved Hamish to the couch. After anxiously hovering over him for a minute afraid that the second he walked away, all peace would break, Sherlock finally went to hang his coat up. He peered back in on the boy to be sure he was asleep before quickly ducking out to grab the boy’s bag from the car. There was something clearly eating at the kid and Sherlock needed all the information he could get to figure it out. It was amazing what he could tell about a kid from their backpack. 

Rosie’s bag always had some sort of sports equipment or at the very least, a flyer about some tryout or another. All of her homework was sorted into color-coded folders and separated by whether it was complete or not. Her grades reflected this; not only was she the smartest in her class, she also had top marks which wasn’t always the case. Sherlock’s backpack at her age had been loaded with library books about anything from human anatomy to United States history and, despite being the smartest kid in his year, his marks were extremely average. He had claimed the work was too dull and none of his teachers bothered to challenge him, instead letting him skirt by. 

Hamish’s bag told a different story. Sherlock took it inside and set it on the kitchen island, opening the compartments one by one. The first concern was the stash of snacks he’d built in the front pocket. The littlest of zipped pockets was packed full of a brand of cereal bar he didn’t recognize. Either he had somehow managed to procure money and purchase them or they were stolen. Upon quick research, he discovered the brand primarily supplied school lunches, which Hamish never bought. Somehow he had squirreled away about a dozen granola bars from an unknown source. He’d known that Hamish had been in some rough homes previously, but he knew better to dig. Now it was presenting itself clearly: he was used to having food taken away as a punishment and he’d found a way to prepare. 

Sherlock quite honestly didn’t want to continue, knowing that the deeper he dug, the more he would find out he probably did not want to know. He skipped the next pocket and went straight for the main compartment where he knew the boy kept his school papers. He pulled Bumble and the lunch box out and set them aside before diving into the contents. 

At first glance, it was as expected for the typical six-year-old. He had a folder labeled “Take Home” along with various loose pages that got crumpled at the bottom of the bag. He pulled out the folder to skim the pages. He skipped over the school newsletters (he got them emailed to him as well) but quickly noticed a weekly series of notes from his teacher, Mrs. Kennedy. They were all general notes, sent home with the kids to be shared with their parents but Sherlock had never seen these and he was sure John hadn’t either. It would be fine if it were just the typical “sunshine and roses” letters but these notes included reminders of family nights and show and tell that he had never heard anything about.

After piling the letters to the side, Sherlock started digging through the crumpled papers at the bottom of the bag. A lot of it was art projects Hamish had been meant to bring home and put on the fridge to be proud of but instead he had shoved them deep in his bag and forgotten about them. Sherlock worked carefully to flatten one out to get a good look at it. It was a project about a story the class had read together about a donkey who gets a wishing stone and what he wished for. The prompt was simple:  _ “What would you wish for if you had the Wishing Stone? Draw a picture and write what it is below.”  _

The picture Hamish had drawn, very small — telling that he didn’t want his wish to take up too much space— was of four people. Under each one was an initial: “S, J, R, and H.” In the blank lines meant to be filled with a description was one word, “famlee.” Despite the atrocious spelling, Sherlock knew the picture was himself, John, Rosie and Hamish together as a family. If this was his wish, why would he say he didn’t like it with them? 

Sherlock stared at the drawing, memorizing every detail of it before putting it on the fridge next to Rosie’s drawings. He sat back down, continuing to unfold the papers, trying to get an idea what was going on with his son. Most of them were unimportant reminders but one caught Sherlock’s attention.

> **Birthday “About Me” Poster**
> 
> Parent(s), 
> 
> As you are aware, your student’s birthday is coming up! My class has a tradition of celebrating birthdays with an “About Me” poster, made by the student and their family that showcases a little bit about them. It can include anything from their interests and hobbies to their family and pets. In the past, we have had wonderful creations using baby pictures or drawings to tell their life, but the entire thing is up to your family. Be as creative as you can!
> 
> As this project is meant to strengthen your child’s story-telling skills, we ask that they are prepared to share their creation with the class on the day of their birthday. 
> 
> Skills this project is meant to enhance include:
> 
>   * Creativity
>   * Story-telling
>   * Public speaking
>   * Penmanship
>   * Social bonds 
> 

> 
> Please feel free to contact me if you have any questions and a happy early birthday to your child!
> 
> Mrs. Kennedy

Sherlock stared at the paper, dumbfounded. How did they not know Hamish’s birthday was soon? He flattened the page as he stared at it, catching the postscript, hand written at the bottom of the page.

> P.S. This is my second time sending this notice. While I understand the situation with Hamish is a little different than most, this does not exclude him from participation in class projects. I will not require Hamish to present the poster, however I do require that he make one, even as it is late. Please email or call me if you have any questions or concerns.

Sherlock took a moment to process before standing to grab his phone from the living room. Upon returning to the kitchen, he rested the phone between his shoulder and ear, listening to the dial tone as he stacked Hamish’s papers up. 

“ _ Hello? _ ” 

The familiar voice on the other line caused Sherlock to pause before finally speaking. “Mum-” 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite honestly not my best work but I tried writing this like six times before I came up with something I didn't despise completely. I'm thinking of wrapping this story up pretty soon but don't afraid, I have plenty more stories in this universe. I guess I'm saying I'm making a series! Wish me luck!

Sherlock stood in the kitchen, staring into the middle distance as he heard his mother pick up the phone. He swallowed before answering.

“Mum… I need a favor.”

“Sherlock, what’s going on? You never call unless something is wrong,” Violet said, afraid of what the answer could be. 

“I need help-“

_ Could it be drugs again? _

“It’s really important-”

_ Was John in trouble? _

“-I know it’s a big ask-“

_ Was it Rosie? _

“-especially considering you may feel I left you out of an important life decision.”

“Sherlock, what’s wrong?”

“I need your help.”

“With?”

“You’re so much better at this stuff than me.”

“William Sherlock, I swear on your brother’s life if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I will come out there myself. Spit it out.”

Sherlock swallowed and closed his eyes. “John and I are adopting a kid-“

“Oh, Sherlock, that’s great news! You should have started there,” Violet interrupted, joy and relief taking over. 

“Yes well, his birthday is today, neither John nor I knew so we haven’t done anything and he feels forgotten,” Sherlock explained further. “He was supposed to have a poster made to present to his class but he didn’t give us the paper meaning we didn’t know and couldn’t help him. Plus he shoved one of his classmates which I can only assume is related.”

“Alright, we can make this better, Lock,” Violet said softly. “What does he like? We can sort out a celebration.”

“I… I don’t know. He’s quiet,” Sherlock answered. “He’s taken to Bumble, the stuffed bee that Rosie picked out for him, and he enjoys documentaries but other than that, I don’t know. But he’s napping on the couch and John is at work so I can’t get anything done as a surprise.”

“Okay, we can work this out. I will cook up a meal and bring it to yours,” Violet said. “We’ll drop everything off and you just need to get John and Rosie in on this. Maybe have them pick up presents and decorations. Pretend it was the plan the whole time.”

“Mummy… I would love for you to meet him, I just- He would need more of a heads up. Surprises and new people aren’t really his thing.”

“No, love. Your father and I will drop everything off at the door, no need to meet him,” Violet clarified. “It sounds like you need a quiet night just the four of you to celebrate. We won’t intrude. Plus we’re close enough to bring you dinner, just let me.”

Sherlock sighed, fully aware that accepting meant he owed her big-time. He checked on Hamish, watching him sleep so soundly before giving in. “Okay, but we still decide when you do get to meet Hamish,” he said. 

“Of course dear,” Violet agreed. “I should get going if I’m going to make a cake too.” 

“Thank you.”

Violet smiled to herself. “You’re very welcome. Just spend the rest of the day with him.”

Sherlock ended the call and wandered to sit on the end of the couch with Hamish as he texted John. 

_ All is good now but I wanted to let you know that Hamish got in a little trouble at school and I picked him up. We had a bit of a meltdown in the driveway but he’s sleeping it off at the moment. SWH _

_ Also, today is his birthday so Mummy is going to be dropping dinner and a cake off later. Can you and Rosie stop and pick him up a couple presents? SWH _

**Shit, Sherlock. Should I come home early? JWH**

_ No. Keep the schedule as planned. He’s had enough change this week. SWH _

**You sure? I can come home during lunch if you need. JWH**

_ I’ve got him. Just try and have a normal day. SWH _

**I’ve got a patient. Call if you need me. J**

* * *

Hamish slept through lunch and Sherlock let him with the hopes that some sleep would do him some good. After making himself lunch and cleaning up the kitchen, Sherlock settled at his desk to get some work done while Hamish rested. Apparently he became too invested in work and missed Hamish waking up because when he went to check on him, he was missing from the couch. 

When Hamish woke, he found himself alone in the living room. He hesitated before peeking into the kitchen to see if Sherlock was there but he simply found his backpack and its contents spread on the counter. He chewed at his lip before tip toeing in and grabbing Bumble before scurrying up the stairs and to his bedroom. 

Most of his toys were downstairs so after hiding Bumble under his pillows (they couldn’t take it away if they couldn’t find it) he snuck into Rosie’s room. He knew she had some art supplies so he quickly grabbed the mug of colored pencils and a stack of paper and returned to his room. 

He was concentrating on an apology card, hoping to avoid physical punishment for having shoved Jake and hit Sherlock, when the door opened. Hamish scrambled to his feet and backed up to the wall. He quickly glanced, making sure Bumble was well hidden before looking back to Sherlock.

Sherlock pushed Hamish’s door open, taking in the scene quickly. The kid had found something to keep himself busy, but he was obviously on edge. Sherlock smiled at Hamish and leaned on the doorframe. 

“Hey, Mish,” he said softly. “Did you have a good nap?” 

Hamish stared at Sherlock, his eyes trained on the man’s hands. 

“Are you hungry? It’s a little late for lunch but we can get you a snack to hold you over.”

Hamish gave no sign of recognition. 

“That’s alright, you don’t need to eat if you don’t feel up to it,” Sherlock murmured. He’d noticed Hamish glance at the bed earlier and he noticed the pillows were propped up. Obviously something was hidden there, but he wouldn’t look. Hamish deserved some privacy. 

“What are you drawing, Misha? Can I see?” He crouched a fair distance away from Hamish and paused with his hand reaching for the paper. Something was wrong. 

Sherlock looked up at Hamish for a moment before nodding to himself. The boy’s eyes were intensely focused on his hand and when Sherlock had reached, Hamish held his breath. He was scared. This wasn’t new. What was new was the intensity with which he believed he was in danger. He had, blinded by frustration and anxiety, shoved Sherlock and now he quite obviously expected to receive the same or worse in return.

Sherlock shifted to sit with his legs crossed and rested his hands on his knees. His hands, which Hamish was watching for signs of a fist being formed, were clearly visible and he was at a disadvantage by crossing his legs. If Hamish were to dart, he would have a head start to get to safety before Sherlock could make chase, not that he would. He watched Hamish for a moment before daring to speak. 

“Hamish? Can you take a deep breath? I know you’re scared but there’s no danger,” Sherlock explained, keeping his voice calm and even. “You’re afraid I’m going to hurt you for pushing me earlier, is that right? I understand that but—“ He watched Hamish’s eyes venture away from his hands and to the door but he didn’t close the door, instead leaving the exit open. Hamish needed to know that he could leave, the option was there. “I’m not angry,” he promised. “I’m not angry with you at all.”

Hamish glanced at Sherlock, making fleeting eye contact before glancing at his pillows again but he didn’t dare move. 

“I understand,” Sherlock repeated. “I understand why you pushed me.” 

Hamish looked back to Sherlock, processing a question that he didn’t (or couldn’t) ask. 

“I do,” Sherlock promised. “There’s an awful lot going on right now with the adoption and school and… And today being your birthday.” He paused and watched Hamish look away before refocusing on him. “I bet you thought we forgot, didn’t you?”

Hamish shrugged. 

Sherlock let out a relieved sigh and nodded. “Well, to be honest, we didn’t know. I wish you had told us,” he murmured as the boy scratched his head, putting his arm between himself and Sherlock. “I wanted to know what was up so I had to go through your backpack and I found your assignment. I wish you had told us so we could help you but it’s okay. I’m not mad. We can deal with that this weekend but tonight, my mummy is going to make us dinner and you, me, papa and Rosie are going to have a nice dinner. How does that sound?”

Hamish pulled his hands into his sleeves and then wrapped his arms around himself, twisting back and forth as Sherlock spoke. He had a thousand questions but he couldn’t ask them all. He dropped his gaze to the floor and continued twisting for a moment before whispering, “Would your mummy be my gran’ma if you ‘dopt me?” 

“When,” Sherlock corrected softly. “She will be your grandma when we adopt you. That is if you still want that?” 

Hamish froze, contemplated, nodded, and started swaying again. 

“Then that’s how it will be,” Sherlock promised. “Plus my father would be your grandpa. Rosie calls them nan and pop but you can call them what you wish. You can use their first names if you want; my mum is Violet and my dad is Siger.” He watched as Hamish took the information in. 

The two of them sat quietly for a minute as Sherlock watched Hamish debate asking a question or not. He was about to give up and suggest they find him a snack when the boy stilled. He stared at the floor before pulling on his ear, his arm again hiding part of his face. “Am I in trouble?” He whispered. “For pushing Jake? O-or… you?” 

Sherlock looked up from the pencil he was spinning between his fingers and his heart nearly broke. Hamish was pressed against the wall, knowing if he was to be hit, it would hurt less to be braced than to bounce off the wall. He also protected sensitive areas with his arm curled by his face and his other arm wrapped around his midsection. Whether he was doing it consciously or if it was just a muscle memory protection, it gave Sherlock all too much information about previous foster homes. “I told you,” he murmured. “I understand. You’re not in trouble. I’m not mad. I would tell you if you were in trouble.” 

Hamish turned to look at him, staring before nodding. After a couple minutes of coaxing, he grabbed Bumble and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck, allowing himself to be carried downstairs to find a snack. 

* * *

The rest of the afternoon was quiet. Hamish settled in the study with the bin of legos as Sherlock worked on a case on his computer, each of them finding comfort in the tasks. When there was a knock at the door, Hamish sat up and stared at Sherlock who didn’t seem to hear. The visitor knocked again and Hamish peeked out of the window to see a strange car in the drive. Someone, not John, was there. He turned to Sherlock, about to speak but he didn’t know how to get his attention. Should he call him by his name? Or maybe dad like Rosie did. 

He was thinking about it when Sherlock looked over and smiled. He opened his mouth before he heard another knock followed by the familiar call of his mother: “Sherlock Holmes, answer the door.” 

“Apparently dinner is here,” Sherlock said with a smirk. “Do you want to come with, or else you can stay here.” He grinned when Hamish followed him to the door, hiding behind Sherlock as he opened the door. “Hello mummy.”

“Dear,” Violet said with a smile. “Do you want to take these or can I bring them in?” She held up a cake plate before her eyes caught Hamish peeking around Sherlock. She smiled at him but didn’t address him. 

“You can put it on the counter,” Sherlock said. He stepped out of the way, a gentle hand on Hamish’s back as his father came through with a heavy Dutch oven carried with potholders. 

“It’s still warm,” Siger said with a smile. “You’re lucky you got it, I tried to convince your mother to switch it out with store-bought. It smells so good.” He skirted past and into the kitchen, paying no mind to Hamish. 

Violet returned and smiled again at Hamish. “I hear it’s your birthday,” she said softly. “Well lucky for you, I spent the day making a nice birthday dinner and cake. You’re going to have to let me know if it was any good; do you think you can do that?”

Sherlock crouched next to Hamish and pushed the hair off his forehead, watching him cautiously. “I think we can,” he answered softly. Hamish pulled his attention away from Violet and turned against Sherlock who easily wrapped his arms around the boy and stood up with him. He smiled and swayed slightly as he rubbed the boy’s back. “Thank you again for dinner,” he said softly. 

“Of course,” Violet answered. “I will need the dishes back but there’s no rush.”

“And I wouldn’t say no if you saved me a slice of that cake,” Siger said as he returned to his wife’s side. 

“We’ll see,” Sherlock said. “It is ultimately up to Misha if he wants to share or not.” He kept a bit of a conversation until he noticed Hamish picking at his cuticles again and he sent his parents away. 

Not ten minutes after they left, Rosie came in with a big grin as she carried a huge birthday banner. “I didn’t know it was your birthday, Misha-man!” 

“What part of sneak that in to the kitchen wasn’t clear?” John asked with a chuckle as he followed her inside with a couple of shopping bags. He smiled at Sherlock holding Hamish and pressed a kiss on his cheek. “How was your day?”

“Alright,” Sherlock answered softly. “You just missed mummy dropping off dinner.”

“Nan was here?” Rosie asked before looking in the kitchen. “She brought cake! Hamish did you see the cake?”

Sherlock glanced at Hamish, making sure he wanted it before he put him down. 

Hamish opened his presents before dinner, mostly because Rosie was being impatient and wanted to play with Hamish’s toys with him. After dinner and cake, Hamish curled up under the weighted blanket John had picked out as they watched some crap telly. 

John asked him something and Hamish blinked at him sleepily before asking “What, papa?” John smiled and repeated, asking if Hamish was ready for bed. 

* * *

Later, in bed, John nudged his husband. “You awake?”

“I am now, Mr. Pushy.”

“He called me ‘papa’,” John whispered. 

“Yes and he thought I was going to beat him,” Sherlock breathed. “I think school has him too stressed. When I picked him up he said he didn’t like it here and I assumed he meant with us but I think he meant ‘here’ as in at the school. You might be right about changing things.”


	11. Chapter 11

Having a brother who is a key component of the British government does sometimes pay off. Sherlock called up Mycroft on Saturday and together they pulled the strings necessary. That week, Hamish started a new schedule at school which is to say he only attended three days a week, spending the other two “homeschooling.” This was the plan at least until the adoption went through and they could get him a spot in the 3-2 program Mycroft had brought up. 

Now, homeschooling with Sherlock Watson-Holmes was far from ordinary. For example, when John had sent them to do some reading, Sherlock grabbed his and Hamish’s coats and took them to the library. When they returned, Hamish spent a solid twenty minutes watching John make dinner before turning to Sherlock and shaking his head. 

“What’s up?” Sherlock asked with a grin.

“I can’t read him,” Hamish murmured, causing John to spin on his heel to shoot his husband _the look_. Sherlock was entirely used to receiving the look. It typically meant that he had done something in a way that John did not approve of. This time, Sherlock was fully aware he was going to receive the look before he actually did.

“Sherlock, when I told you to do some reading with him, I didn’t think I had to specify that I meant books. Did you even go to the library?”

Sherlock smirked as he looked up at his husband. “As a matter of fact, we did.”

“Then why didn’t you bring any books home?” John asked with a sigh. 

“Well,” Sherlock drawled. He straightened up and ruffled Hamish’s hair as he did. “You have been watching a lot of that crappy show _Tasker_ or whatever—“

“It’s _Taskmaster,_ Sherlock.”

“Yes, whatever. But that show is all about reading comprehension when you think of it. They get the letter and have to interpret the rules and how to work around the rules instead of by following them.”

John sighed as he wiped his hands on a towel. “Actually it’s just about a bunch of adults making right fools of themselves but go on.” 

“Yeah, well, Misha and I—“ Sherlock started but quickly reversed when he saw the boy tense at being included in the planning of their outing. “Okay, to be honest it was just me and Mish followed along. We- or rather I, decided to take your _task_ and bend the rules. You told us to go to the library for reading. We went to the library and I taught Hamish a little about reading people. He was very good with average people. Unsurprisingly, love, you are a little harder to read.” 

Sherlock smirked again and kissed John quickly before whispering, “I like the challenge.” He winked as he crouched back down with Hamish to teach the boy a few of John’s more obvious tells starting with the fist clenching and loosening. 

* * *

Having a break from normal schooling proved to help Hamish unwind and relax. That Thursday, John had told Hamish that they were going to visit with a friend of his and Julie’s. Cora was supposed to be a friend that he could talk to about the adoption. John sat with Hamish on his lap for the first half an hour but then Cora asked him to leave and Hamish was left alone in her office. The next twenty minutes were filled with questions ranging from “What’s your favorite animal,” to “do you feel safe with John and Sherlock?” Hamish did his best to answer, but spent most of his time simply staring at her. 

Tuesdays and Thursdays, homeschool days, Hamish went to Cora’s office at 11am. Sometimes they would play games, others she asked Hamish to draw pictures or answer some questions. After a couple weeks, Hamish had opened up to answer some questions, typically with monosyllabic answers. Sometimes Sherlock took him. Sometimes it was John. A few times it was both of them. These times, they both came in the office with him and Cora asked them all questions. 

Once, while Hamish was focused on a puzzle block on the bookshelf, the three adults started talking in hushed tones as Cora explained the story she had put together about a previous foster family Hamish had lived with. Hamish knew to leave the adults talk, but when he looked over to see John’s fist fidgeting, he took a risk. Even if he didn’t know why, he could see that John was upset and he wanted to fix it. 

> _“John’s fist is never to hurt you,” Sherlock had promised when he pointed out John’s tell. “None of us will ever hurt you like that.”_

Hamish repeated that memory as he touched John’s hand. Almost immediately, John was looking at him, military instincts kicking in before seeing Hamish stumble back and stare. 

John knelt down and held Hamish’s hands as he looked him over. “What’s wrong, buddy?” 

“You-,” Hamish started before pulling one had away from John’s grasp. “You’re scared.” He held his hand up with palm exposed and curled his fingers down a couple times before pointing to John’s left hand. 

“Tremor,” Sherlock murmured, fully aware that John was oblivious to his tics. 

“You’re right,” John said softly. “I’m scared because Cora was just telling me about the scary things you told her. But we’re safe. Right Misha?”

Hamish watched him before taking ahold of John’s left hand in both of his, running his fingers all over like he was going to find something. He continued even when John sat down, moving to stand between his legs as he inspected, the dull lull of conversation shifting out of his focus. 

That evening, John was helping Hamish read a story when Sherlock got the call telling them their court date to finalize the adoption the following week.

* * *

The week leading up to their trip to London was spent preparing the best they could for whatever may happen. After school on Monday, John helped Hamish pack a bag of comforts that he could keep with them and a couple extra that would stay in the car and Sherlock told him the schedule over and over and answered every question the boy asked. 

Tuesday after therapy, Sherlock took Hamish to pick out an outfit for the day and get a haircut. The clothes shopping went alright but the haircut, not so much. Sherlock stepped in part way through to adjust a few things to help him but he was too late. The stress had already built too far and, when the clippers touched the base of his neck to clean it up after everything else was done, Hamish broke down. He pulled away, falling off the chair and knocking his forehead on the counter. Sherlock quickly tossed more than enough cash and took Hamish to the car. He sat with the puddle of a boy on his lap, talking him down from his panic.

On Wednesday, John picked Hamish up early from school when he got a call that the boy wasn’t feeling well. When he arrived, he was unsurprised to see Hamish fully shut-down. Hamish glanced up at the familiar sound of John’s voice but made no further sign of recognition, even as he clung tight to John’s side. 

He remained closed-off and quiet until a sudden outburst with hands slamming on the table sent his dinner flying onto his shirt as the plate skidded across the table. John and Rosie gasped but Sherlock calmly collected Hamish’s flailing limbs and looked him in the eye as he whispered to him. He put his forehead to the boy’s and just breathed in time with him until the tension unwound. He and Hamish nibbled on some biscuits with a documentary as John and Rosie finished up their dinners. 

“Papa?” Rosie whispered. “Does Hamish really want to be adopted?”

“Of course he does,” John assured with a smile. 

“I just think… Well, he seems upset about it all….” 

John squeezed her hand and nodded. “He’s scared. Change is hard and dealing with it looks different for everyone. It’ll be okay.”

Thursday was Hamish’s normal meeting with Cora but this time everyone, including Rosie, was going. Hamish insisted on bringing the backpack John had packed and Sherlock gave in easily, ignoring John’s look telling him that Hamish was bound to lose something from it. At Cora’s office, Hamish didn’t open the bag, instead sitting with it on his lap with his arms wrapped around it. He couldn’t seem to sit still. Either he was kicking his feet or tapping something (mostly just brushing his fingernails against each other, making a zipping sound). He didn’t answer anyone until he was alone with Cora.

She sat on the floor in front of him with her legs crossed and watched him for a minute before attempting conversation. “Are you scared?”

Hamish stilled for a second, shrugged and then nodded before clicking his nails off each other. Cora let him do this for a couple seconds before asking another question. “But you do want to be adopted, right?”

Cora smiled when he nodded immediately. “Well, that’s good,” she said. She watched Hamish’s eyes dart to the door and noticed the shadow shifting. “I’m going to let you go really soon but I have one more question, okay? Are you scared that something will stop you from being adopted?”

Hamish stopped fidgeting and dropped his eyes. He stared at his hands before nodding a very slight bit. “I wanna stay with ‘em,” he whispered. 

“Then this is a good thing,” Cora assured him, but it was evident she had lost his focus. She watched as his fidgeting amplified, moving from picking at his nails to pulling his bag’s zipper back and forth, and then to kicking his feet. When she opened the door, Sherlock was right there and jolted in surprise before bending down to pick up a visibly distressed Hamish and take him home.

That night, it was near impossible to get Hamish to sleep. John started with their typical routine. He read him a story before kissing his head and telling him goodnight.

Ten minutes later, Hamish stood in the open doorway to Rosie’s room where Sherlock was talking with her about some mathematical constant. 

“Do I have to talk to the people tomorrow?” 

Sherlock answered his list of questions all over again and tucked him back in. 

Half an hour later, Hamish was rustling through the snacks in the kitchen. John asked if everything was alright and he nodded. John put him to bed once more only to find him in the washroom a few minutes later. Hamish cowered when John rounded the corner and held up his toothbrush: “Had to brush my teeth…”

Back to bed and twenty minutes later, he was sitting in the entryway, unpacking and re-packing his backpack. Sherlock carried him up the stairs, laid in bed with him, and called Siger who told Hamish another bedtime story over the phone. Sherlock laid next to him for over an hour after, making sure he was really and truly asleep that time. 

11pm, Hamish entered John and Sherlock’s bedroom with his arms wrapped tight around Bumble. He had no words but John could see him shaking from the doorway and gave in.

“Hamish, love,” he murmured, putting his book down. “Why don’t you crawl in bed with daddy and I? You can sleep here tonight.”

Hamish hesitated before nodding and letting John pick him up. He curled up between them and, with the help of John playing with his hair, was asleep in a few minutes, finally out for the night. He laid with his head on John’s chest and feet on Sherlock’s legs with his arms wrapped around Bumble, maintaining contact with each source of comfort.

* * *

By 7:30 the next morning, all four of them were loaded in the car, Hamish still half asleep. John had expertly woke him only enough to get him to climb in the warm car, wrapped in a blanket stolen from the foot of John and Sherlock’s bed. 

Thanks to John’s careful genius, it was an hour before Hamish actually woke up, very groggy and a little confused. He blinked everything into focus, watching Rosie read her book before turning his attention to the scenes rushing past his windows. It was another fifteen minutes before he spoke. He was quite timid, his high-energy anxiety from the previous day replaced with the same look he’d had when he first moved in. His shoulders were pulled up and he watched everyone with extreme caution. 

Sherlock had missed what Hamish said but turned his attention completely to the boy, leaving his and John’s conversation to be finished later. “Good morning, my man,” he said with a grin. “Aren’t you excited; it’s adoption day!”

Hamish just blinked at him and shifted nervously. 

“Ah, who am I kidding, of course you are. John and I were just talking and we think we’re going to stop for breakfast soon. We’ll go somewhere you can get pancakes.”

Hamish continued to stare at him. “Have to pee,” he whispered, his mouth covered with Bumble’s wing. 

Sherlock glanced out the window and bit at his lip. “Alright, you have to pee,” he confirmed before looking for landmarks. “Can you hold it fifteen minutes and then we can pee at the restaurant, or should we find somewhere else?”

Thankfully Hamish managed to wait, but there was a mad rush to get him unbuckled and inside as fast as possible when they got there. Afterwards, he curled up in the booth and fixed his gaze on a single point on the table. He didn’t look up once and only pushed the pancakes around the plate, even after John begged him to take a couple bites. Knowing it was a losing battle, John gave up easily and instead pushed the orange juice closer in an attempt to get at least something in him. 

Back in the car, Sherlock took over driving, making sure to alert Hamish when they were twenty, fifteen, ten, five and two minutes away from Mycroft’s. Despite his pride-fueled desire to turn him down, when Mycroft offered his place as a sort of home-base for the day, Sherlock had accepted, knowing full well that they were going to have a long day on their hands. Plus, being at Mycroft’s meant there were plenty of rooms in case Hamish needed some time to regain himself.

They weren’t set to arrive at the courthouse until that afternoon but having the opportunity to settle in at Mycroft’s for a little bit before going head first into what could be very stressful seemed wise. As the car pulled to a stop, John was watching Hamish, expecting him to stare at the building but instead he was staring at the back of Sherlock’s seat and picking at his fingers, seemingly unaware of the fact the car had stopped or that his thumb had started to bleed where he had pulled a hangnail. He blinked and focused on his surroundings once Rosie shut her door, heading to Mycroft who was walking outside to greet them. 

Sherlock made note of Hamish’s distance as he opened the door and smiled at him. “Misha,” he said with a smile. “We have hours before we have to be at the court. You should grab your bag and I will give you the official tour of Mycroft’s house.” His voice was soft and uncaring but the look on Hamish’s face concerned him. “If you’re good, I’ll let you see what was my room when I stayed here.” 

He helped Hamish unbuckle and scooped him up before putting him down on the driveway. He was just reaching to feel the boy’s forehead when he heard the sheepish voice. He’d missed the words so he crouched down and asked him to repeat. 

Hamish whimpered and just leaned himself against Sherlock. “I don’ feel good,” he whined, nuzzling into Sherlock’s neck. 

Quickly Sherlock pieced it together and carefully picked Hamish up. “Okay, let’s skip the tour and I’ll take you to my bedroom so we can hide out a little.” 

He reached into the car, gathering Hamish’s bag and blanket as John came to his side. “Love, we’re feeling a little poorly; I think probably anxiety or maybe car sickness. We’re going to go lay down for a few minutes,” Sherlock explained softly before leaning to kiss John on the forehead. “You’ve got Rosie and Mycroft? And, I believe Greg is here, but Myc didn’t want us knowing that.”

“Of course,” John said, watching Hamish before turning to Mycroft and Rosie who were arguing about whether or not umbrellas were actually useful. He joined in quickly, allowing for Sherlock to bring Hamish inside unbothered, though quickly explained Sherlock was taking Hamish to lay down for a few. 

* * *

When John pushed the door open to Sherlock’s room an hour later, Hamish was cuddled to Sherlock’s chest as the man hummed a tune. There was a stench in the air that John quickly pinned to the bin next to the bed. Quietly, he placed the sleeve of crackers Greg had found him on the bedside table and took the bin to clean it out. When he returned, he nudged Sherlock’s legs over and sat on the edge of the single bed. He looked at the two of them for a moment, just taking everything in. 

The first time Rosie was sick on Sherlock’s watch, one would think the world was coming to an end. They were in the middle of packing up Baker Street and living amongst the boxes and John had gone away to Harry’s for the weekend. A three year-old Rosie toddled out of bed a couple hours after Sherlock had tucked her in. Sherlock turned to lecture her but froze when he saw she was shivering and pale. He didn’t sleep at all that night, electing to read through John’s medical textbooks to find all of the possibilities of what could be wrong with her. Eventually he decided it was meningitis but was pleased to find out that it was only a stomach bug she had picked up at daycare. 

Since then, Sherlock had become more cautious on diagnosing illnesses and also better at comforting the sick. John couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Sherlock being so gentle and loving with Hamish. He mouthed “asleep?” to Sherlock as he looked over the blanket-covered lump that was the boy. 

“I believe so,” Sherlock murmured, shifting to peek under the blanket before confirming. “He’s out.”

“Good,” John said. “How long?”

“Well, shortly after we came up, he got sick and had a bit of a panic attack of sorts,” Sherlock answered. “I’m not entirely sure when he fell asleep. He and I are both going to need clean shirts before we go though.” 

“He’s still in his pajamas so he was going to need to change anyway. You on the other hand, we’re going to have to figure something out.” 

“I’m not too worried as long as he’s got a change of clothes.”

“Yeah,” John said, reaching out to flatten the blanket on Hamish’s back. “I can take a turn; you should go and talk with your brother and lecture him for inviting your parents without letting us know.”

Sherlock was about to protest, perfectly happy to lay with Hamish as long as he needed, but he was never one to pass up a good reason to start a battle with Mycroft. He carefully shifted and let John take Hamish before heading downstairs ready to pick a fight. 

* * *

When John and Hamish rejoined the family, they found everyone eating a feast of a lunch that Mycroft had procured in an attempt to get something everyone would eat. Mycroft and Greg were sitting on a sofa with Rosie happily nestled between them with an overfilled plate resting on her lap. Across from them, Siger and Violet were on the other sofa, and Sherlock was sulking in one of the armchairs, refusing to eat anything Violet was offering.

John kept his hand on Hamish’s shoulder to direct him into the room but he froze in the doorway, feet planted firmly and John stopped. In the past, this wasn’t behaviour John would put up with. When Rosie was a little younger than Hamish, she had tried playing shy. Any time they met someone new or entered somewhere with a lot of people, she would try and get one of them to carry her or to hide behind them. John hadn’t put up with this. He simply informed her that she was too big to be carried and she could handle it like a “big girl.” The absolute worst that would happen was that she would cry but typically she dropped the act and went on. 

Hamish was different. Especially on the day of his adoption. If John were to push too hard then, there would be no telling how the rest of the day would go. More importantly, Hamish’s stopping was him communicating. He didn’t feel safe, and if John were to ignore that, he may not get a warning next time. 

John crouched next to Hamish, smiling as the boy looked at him with big eyes. “Misha,” he whispered as he placed his hand on his chest. “Take a deep breath for me. In… and out… Good.” He pushed his fingers through the boy’s hair, giving him a moment if he wanted to say something. 

Hamish twisted his torso back and forth, looking at John’s chin before whispering one word: “up?” 

With a smile, John nodded and picked him up. “You are getting a bit too big for this, Mish,” he teased softly but carried the boy over and sat on the arm of Sherlock’s chair. 

“Hey, he’s alive,” Sherlock said with a smirk as he reached out for Hamish.

“Mm, you need to finish the plate your mother got you first,” John scolded softly. He knew Sherlock well enough to know when he was attempting to use deception, especially when it was used to get out of eating. “Mish and I just ate some of the crackers Uncle Greg sent us so we’re gonna wait a few minutes before lunch.” 

“There was crackers?” Rosie asked, looking between her uncles incredulously.

“There were,” Mycroft said as he shook his head. “But don’t you think there’s more than enough to eat here?” 

“Well, yeah but I still like crackers,” Rosie pouted.

Greg leaned over with a smirk and stage-whispered “I’ll be sure to send some with you for the ride home.”

“Rosie, what’s the best part of your day so far?” John asked absentmindedly, his attention on Hamish fidgeting on his lap. He stopped him from picking at the bleeding hangnail and pulled a tangle toy from his pocket. 

“Papa! It’s only lunchtime,” Rosie said. “I can’t tell you the best part of my day if the day isn’t over!”

Sherlock hummed and pulled his attention away from Hamish for a moment. “Your father did technically ask the best part of your day _so far_ so you can answer that.”

“He brings up a solid argument,” Siger agreed. 

“Yes, but the origin of this silly game is that it is played at the dinner table,” Mycroft argued, launching into a long-winded counter-argument to his father and brother. 

John eventually shifted and sat next to Violet, letting everyone argue the validity of the game as he watched Hamish watching everyone. After twenty minutes, the boy had uncurled and was silently showing Violet the shapes he could make with his tangle. Ten minutes later, he was eating some of the crisps off her plate and he had “stolen” the brownie that Sherlock had given her, just as he had planned. Maybe it wasn’t the most nutritious lunch, but at least he would have more than crackers in his stomach before they left for court in half an hour. 

“Hamish, you should go and get changed unless you want to be adopted in your dirty pajamas,” Sherlock said once he had finished the brownie. He stood next to him and offered to carry him, but Hamish just looked back to Violet. 

“Do you want me to help you get dressed, dear?” Violet asked softly, shocked when Hamish nodded. “Okay. I can do that.”

Sherlock blinked at the boy before nodding and smiling. “I- yeah. His clothes are up in what used to be my room,” he said, narrowing his eyes to try and sort out why Hamish had taken to her so well. John had to nudge him with his foot to get him to regain focus. “Do you want me to come too, Mish?”

Hamish looked up to Sherlock before shrugging. He slid off John’s lap and handed him back the tangle as he wrapped his arms around Bumble and followed Violet towards the stairs. 

Not ten minutes later, the two of them returned. Hamish was wearing his new outfit with the navy blue trousers Sherlock had found that didn’t have the annoying seams, and a soft button down shirt with a patterned blue bowtie. His shirt had been tucked in until Violet turned her back and he quickly started pulling it out. 

“Oh my,” Siger said as he rounded the corner. “Look at that handsome grandson of ours, dear.” 

Violet grinned as everyone else gathered. “He’s pretty amazing.” 

Rosie started tucking Hamish’s shirt back in, holding onto his belt to keep him still, which proved to be the last straw. He shook his head and shoved her hands away. “Don’ want!” he cried as he stumbled back, dropping Bumble as he pulled his shirt free from his trousers.

There was no calm from that point forward.


	12. Chapter 12

Violet knelt in front of Hamish as Siger took Rosie to help clean up. Having worked with Sherlock when he was young and struggling with similar sensory processing issues, Violet and Siger both had a pretty good idea of what to do and more importantly, what not to do. They both knew to give him space and not to touch him. Violet also knew that Sherlock responded well to naming the input he was receiving. Now this theory had not worked on Mycroft or Rosie when she tried it with them, but if Hamish was as similar to Sherlock as it seemed, she assumed it would work well. 

“Hamish,” she started, her voice even and quiet. “Can you do something with me? You don’t have to tell me but can you name to yourself five things that you can see?”

Hamish didn’t acknowledge her but his eyes jumped around the room. 

_ One: Bumble. _

_ Two: Violet.  _

_ Three: the weird print of an elephant on Mycroft’s wall. _

_ Four: the tile floor.  _

_ Five: his feet. They were cold from the tile and his toes curled as he realized it.  _

“Good,” Violet praised after a moment, unsure if he had actually completed the task. “Now do four things you can hear.” She watched as he closed his eyes to focus on the sounds. While he was still fidgeting, he had a task that kept his mind from spiraling all the way into panic. She smiled to herself as Hamish’s head turned, honing in on the sounds to identify their sources.

_ One: talking in the sitting room—Greg was telling a story. _

_ Two: his own breathing.  _

_ Three: Violet’s breathing.  _

_ Four: the rain hitting the window. _

As soon as Hamish realized he could hear the rain, he turned and moved towards the window next to the door. Violet saw him heading to the door and almost stopped him. When he stopped by the window, she smiled instead before going to stand by him, putting herself between him and the door. Sherlock had been a runner at his age, there was no telling if Hamish was as well. At least not until it was too late. 

Hamish however seemed to calm down as he focused on the raindrops. There was a gentle breeze causing the rain to hit the window and the soft pattering captured the boy’s attention. He watched as droplets gathered together and ran down the pane. 

As he watched, Violet could see the tension ease from his shoulders. She could leave him to focus on the rain but she wanted to walk him through the rest of her exercise, hopefully arming him with something in case he needed it in the future. 

“Hamish?” She asked. “Can you think of three things you can touch?”

Hamish waited a moment before putting a hand on the window. 

_ One: the window.  _ It was smooth and cool and he wanted to put his face on it. __

_ Two: Bumble.  _ He didn’t actually have the bee in his hand, but it was on the floor and he could, if he wanted to, walk away from the window to pick it up.

_ Three: his tie.  _

As soon as he acknowledged it, he became aware of how tight the bow tie felt around his neck. With one hand still on the window, he pulled gently at the tie with the other, hoping it would come loose. When that didn’t work, he tugged it harder, and then with both hands, and when that didn’t work, he could feel the uneasiness grow. The tendrils of panic tightened around his chest as the bow tie seemed to tighten around his neck. He yanked it once more before looking at Violet. 

The panic softened when he saw her and he let out a small whimper before lifting his chin, thrusting his collar towards her. Thankfully, Violet understood his non-verbal request and unhooked the clip-on tie for him. 

“You’re okay,” she promised. “Can you take a deep breath for me? In… and out…” 

Hamish took an exaggerated breath and let it out before moving back to the window and putting the back of his hand on the cold pane. 

“Two more things, Misha,” she murmured. “What are two things you can smell?”

_ One: the food from their lunch—even though it was packed away, the scent lingered. _

_ Two: Violet’s perfume— one of his foster moms had worn the same one. She had been one of the good ones and the smell reminded him of her.  _

Hamish nodded and flipped his hand so his palm was on the glass. 

“Good, now one thing you can taste.” 

_ One: blood. He had bit his lip but he did that all the time so it wasn’t surprising.  _

Violet left him to focus on the rain drops on the window as Sherlock slowly came down the stairs. She smiled up at him as she stood up. 

“He likes you,” Sherlock observed. 

“He’s like you,” Violet countered. “He’s overwhelmed, I just did what I could to help.”

“No,” Sherlock said. “He’s taken to you faster than he did John or myself. For him to trust you, someone he hasn’t met, on today of all days, there is clearly something about you that he just likes.”

Violet smiled and picked up the stuffed bee. “Well, I’m glad. But you should be going.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Sherlock sighed. “You and dad riding with Myc?”

“Yes, we’ll see you there,” Violet said as she handed Sherlock the stuffed bee. 

  
  


About halfway to the courthouse, the questions started. 

“Are you still gonna ‘dopt me?” 

“Yes, love,” Sherlock hummed.

“And I can stay with you?”

“Of course.”

“And I don’ have to talk to ‘em?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“You promise it will still happen? You’re not gonna jus’ leave me with Julie or somethin’?”

“We won’t ever leave you. We’re going to talk to the judge and then sign some papers and it’ll be over and we will go home. Together.”

This answer was apparently satisfactory as Hamish fell silent for the rest of the ride. He turned his attention to the raindrops racing across his window as his foot tapped a fast and unsteady rhythm against the door. 

Hamish’s anxiety was expected. Not for one minute did anyone expect to walk into the courtroom with a confident kid. What they didn’t expect was for Hamish to take off running across the parking garage when they parked. But he did. Sherlock had just helped him out of the back seat and was kneeling to ask him how he was doing when the boy took off. 

John was about to take chase, opening his mouth to bark orders to get the entire block on lockdown as he saw why Hamish had taken off. Greg had pulled his car in a couple spaces away and Violet had just gotten out. 

“This is good,” Sherlock murmured, resting a hand on John’s shoulder to hold him back. “We can’t coddle him, and if he feels safe with my mum, then at least we’ll have someone who can babysit.”

“You’re right,” John agreed and wrapped his arm around Rosie.

Violet had seen Hamish barreling towards her and knelt down to his level, braced against the car. She murmured to him and tried to get a look at his face but all he wanted to do was press against her. His eyes were squeezed shut and arms wrapped tight around Bumble as he leaned into her. While she had no clue why he wanted that, she wasn’t about to stop it. She wrapped her arms around him and rubbed his back until she noticed him tensing and then she stopped, switching to holding him with simple and constant pressure. 

Everyone stood around, watching as Violet did her best to convince Hamish to let go. Mycroft was about to call in yet another favor to delay their hearing when Violet made an offer. “Hamish, do you want to borrow my scarf? You can wear it and it’ll be like armor.” 

Hamish pulled back and blinked his eyes open. He looked over the scarf and felt its texture before moving it to his face. Tentatively he nodded and looked to Sherlock and John for confirmation.

“I think that’s a good idea, mum,” Sherlock encouraged. He smiled as Violet draped the scarf around Hamish’s neck. “What do you say, bud? Do you think you’re ready to be adopted?”

Hamish gave another small nod and gathered part of the scarf in his hand before bringing it to his cheek. Sherlock debated stopping him but didn’t, deciding instead that he would allow whatever behaviour it took to get them through the day. If Hamish chewed on the scarf or wiped snot with it, Sherlock would just buy her a new one. All he needed was for Hamish to be present enough to meet the requirements of the judge.

As they entered the building, they were directed to family court where the atmosphere didn’t feel as official. Hamish stuck close to Sherlock and John but shied away from any contact. He followed them into the courtroom and took a seat between them at the front but his mind was totally absent. John and Sherlock both attempted to get his attention to no avail, but, since he was calm, they continued along. 

It was the judge who ultimately called for a change of venue. She asked to meet with John, Sherlock, and Hamish alone in her chambers, leaving Rosie to worry with the others. Hamish followed without hesitation and his distant stare was only broken when the sound of water bubbling caught his attention. He blinked and looked around, finding himself to be in a much smaller, darker room with bookshelves overfilled with thick old books and, in the corner, a small table with a tank on it. The tank had a light and a filter that was causing the bubbling as well as refracting light across the table in interesting ways. 

Hamish approached it, mesmerized by the light and sound before he even saw the fish. When the betta fish swam out from behind the castle, Hamish blinked in shock before leaning in closer, absolutely amazed by the way it moved and how the fins moved in the water. 

He remained captivated by the fish for some time before he heard someone talking. They must have been talking for a while now but someone was calling his name. The first three times, he didn’t hear it. The next three, he ignored it. On the seventh time his name was called, he turned around and realized he had made a mistake. He was supposed to be listening to them. This lady was the one that was going to make it so he wouldn’t have to move to strangers’ houses anymore and he had ignored her. What if she didn’t let him get adopted because he was rude? What if she put him with another bad family? What if he never saw John or Sherlock or Rosie again? 

The panic was obvious on Hamish’s face and his eyes glinted with tears about to fall but before John or Sherlock could reach out to comfort him, the judge spoke up. 

“I see you found Chip,” she said with a grin. “My kiddo, Alex, chose the name. Apparently they thought it was funny to name him Chip because he’s a fish—like fish and chips.” 

When she saw she wasn’t going to get an answer, the judge took off her glasses and looked Hamish over. “I adopted Alex three years ago and they tell me it’s the best thing to happen to them. When I oversee an adoption, I want to make sure that I’m making that happen for others. So, would John and Sherlock here adopting you be the best thing to happen to you, Hamish?” 

Hamish watched her for a second, looked back to the fish, and then turned back to her. He squeezed the handful of scarf and rubbed Bumble’s wing before nodding. 

“Do you feel safe with them? As safe as you can, I mean.”

Hamish nodded again. 

“Do you think they would ever hurt you on purpose?”

He hesitated, processing the question this time before shaking his head.

“And do you think Rosamund would ever hurt you on purpose?”

Hamish furrowed his eyebrows at the question until John clarified that she meant Rosie, at which point he shook his head. His attention quickly dropped to his hands and he started picking the knot out of Bumble’s antenna. He fidgeted for a second before leaning against Sherlock’s arm. 

“A few more minutes, and then we can go,” Sherlock whispered, pushing his fingers through the boy’s hair. “Just a couple more minutes…”

Hamish closed his eyes and focused on the touch. He didn’t fight as Sherlock pulled him onto his lap, instead nuzzling closer to hide. 

“You okay?” Sherlock asked but was surprised to hear a response. The soft “too much” Hamish breathed was more than enough for him to go on. Carefully, he took his jacket from the back of his chair and draped it over the boy. 

For the rest of the meeting, he kept his focus on Hamish, even as he rattled off a deduction to the judge. When they were finished, he stood with Hamish in his arms and followed John to the rest of the family. 

Rosie was the first to see them return and she jumped up, eyes wide with anticipation. She was about to start asking her questions when Sherlock shook his head slightly. “We’re going to skip pictures today,” he murmured. “I think there’s some cupcakes at uncle Myc’s waiting for us to celebrate.” 

The rest of the day, Hamish was Sherlock’s shadow, following him everywhere. When Sherlock left the room Hamish followed him, no matter what he had been doing seconds before. He was settled in front of a documentary on the telly, leaned against John and licking the frosting off a cupcake when Sherlock followed Mycroft to have a conversation but they were immediately joined by the boy. He came in and held out the frosting-less cupcake out to Sherlock who set it aside and hoisted the boy onto his hip. Sherlock pushed Hamish’s hair off his forehead and smiled before turning back to his conversation with Mycroft. 

After a few minutes of conversation, Hamish lifted his head, immediately earning him both brothers’ attention. “Can we go home, daddy?” 

Sherlock grinned and hugged him tight as he nodded. “Of course, my son. Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, life kinda got in the way and it turns out that writing endings is really hard. Anyway, I hope you liked it!


End file.
